THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE 


INCARNATION, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS 

ALSO, 

INFIDELITY, 

A  TALE  OF  THE  REVOLUTION, 

BY  J,  B,  THOMAS, 

CO  VI  NO  TON,     KY. 

R.  C.  LANGDON,  PRINTER. 
1844. 


ENTERED,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year 
1844,  by  J.  B.  THOMAS,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  for  the 
District  of  Kentucky. 


PREFACE. 


THIS  little  volume  is  not  the  production 
of  one  whose  fate  it  has  been  to  woo  the 
Muses  in  Academic  groves :  its  author, 
therefore,  does  not  dare  to  expect  that  it 
should  pass  the  ordeal  of  modern  criticism 
entirely  unscathed;  or  that  it  should  ap- 
pear at  the  bar  of  popular  taste  altogether 
uncondemned.  His  harp  has,  he  trusts, 
been  tuned  to  Nature,  to  Virtue,  and  to 
Truth  ;  and  he  humbly  hopes  that  these, 
his  efforts,  the  interlines  of  ordinary  life, 
may  not  only  tend  to  amuse  the  mind  of 
the  reader,  but  lead  to  the  contemplation 
of  Nature,  and  of  Nature's  God  ;  and  aid 
in  inculcating  those  moral  principles  which 
he  has  attempted  to  illustrate. 

THE    AUTHOR. 

Covington,  Ky. 


THE   INCARNATION. 


IMMORTAL  THEME  !    thy  mighty  matchless  song 

Through  vast  eternity  shall  roll  along, 

As  waked  by  angel-hands  from  harps  above, 

It  pours  the  music  of  Eternal  Love ; 

While  the  loud  anthem  sweeps  its  ample  round, 

And  all  Heaven's  echoes  tell  the  rapturous  sound. 

Fain  would  I  list  your  lays,  ye  spirits  bright ! 

Invoke  your  aid,  ye  ministers  of  light ! 

And  imitate  your  strains  and  joys  above, 

And  sing  the  triumphs  of  Redeeming  Love, 

.Sing  of  Salvation's  work  and  wond'rous  plan, 

Where  Grace  and  Justice  met,  and  rescued  Man. 

Let  thought  retrace  th'  billowy  stream  of  time, 

Behold  a  Deity  enthroned  sublime, 

Ere  from  the  dark,  the  dense,  chaotic  deep, 

He  bade  unnumbered  orbs  to  being  leap ; 

Ere  from  the  chambers  of  eternal  night, 

At  his  command  arose  the  lovely  light : 

Or  from  his  hand  Omnipotent  was  hurl'd 

Upon  its  path  this  swift  revolving  world : 

Ere  it  was  clothed  with  grass,  and  herb,  and  tree, 

Adorned  and  decorated,  man  for  thee. 


6  THE    INCARNATION. 

All  this  was  done — and  God  pronounced  it  good ; 
Then  roll'd  the  river,  and  spread  forth  the  flood ; 
With  foliage  waved  the  wood-crown'd  mountain  tops; 
With  beauty  bloom'd  the  valley  and  the  copse, 
While  fruits  ambrosial  leant  from  every  limb, 
And  bright-wing'd  songsters  warbled  praise  to  Him ; 
Then  laugh'd  the  rivulet  as  it  leapt  along, 
Murmuring  its  music  in  perpetual  song; 
Then  fountains  gushed,  and  mighty  oceans  roll'd, 
Broad'ning  and  blushing  'neath  Heaven's  beams  of 

gold; 

As  daily  walk'd  the  sun  in  majesty  and  might, 
Or  the  mild  moon  led  forth  the  hosts  of  night. 

Then  were  the  counsels  of  th'  Eternal  set : — 

For  'midst  these  wond'rous  works,  no  man  was  yet : 

There  was  no  voice  to  represent  the  whole ; 

Amidst  this  world  of  matter,  was  no  soul ; 

No  hand  to  tend  the  rich,  luxuriant  root, 

To  till  the  ground,  or  cull  the  rosy  fruit; 

Nor  waited  long  this  world,  thus  furnished  fair, 

Thus  richly  wrought  with  varying  beauty,  ere 

Man,  young  Time's  illustrious  stranger,  trod 

The  virgin  earth,  the  image  of  his  God : 

Fit  for  full  intercourse  with  angel  high, 

With  God  himself,  with  Heaven,  and  earth,  and  sky; 

Fit  for  to  rule  o'er  being's  lower  grade, 

And  to  present  them  as  their  federal  head ; 

Fit  to  reflect  the  moral  light  divine, 

Of  Him  who  bade  him  live,  and  love,  and  shine. 

Whence  came  the  blight  that  blasted  Eden  first? 


THE    INCARNATION. 

And  with  its  witherings  the  creation  curst  ? 

Changed  man — for  peace  and  joy,  gave  wo  and  strife, 

And  nipt  the  buddings  of  immortal  life? 

Man  sinn'd ;    and  guilty  in  God's  sight  he  stood, 

And  justice  claim'd  with  keen  bare  sword  his  blood ; 

While  swift  diffusive  as  the  rays  of  light, 

Sin  shed  its  broad  its  universal  blight, 

And  like  a  mildew  fell  its  fearful  ban, 

On  earth,  air,  ocean,  beast  and  man. 

At  the  cool  hour  of  even's  softer  light, 
In  Eden's  garden  walked  the  God  of  might ; 
And  Adam  heard  his  voice :  that  voice  before 
That  nought  to  him  but  life  and  joy  had  bore, 
Now  fraught  with  terror,  strikes  his  trembling  heart, 
Like  the  first  clap  that  rends  the  clouds  apart. 
With  downy  wing  the  winds  no  longer  fan 
The  quivering  foliage,  and  the  cheek  of  man : 
But  'neath  their  rage  the  fretted  forests  bend, 
The  drifted  clouds  in  sombrous  shapes  ascend, 
'Till  Heaven's  broad  arch,  cerulean  calm  before, 
Is  mantled  with  the  scowling  tempest  o'er ; 
While  God  walks  forth  upon  his  stormy  path, 
Strewing  the  missiles  of  vindictive  wrath, 
And  with  successive  flash  red  lightnings  fly, 
And  thunders  roll,  and  rattle  round  the  sky. 

But  scarce  had  man  God's  righteous  mandate  broke, 

Ere  mercy  to  his  wounded  spirit  spoke; 

She  bade  him  raise  his  death-dejected  eye, 

And  pierce  by  faith  futurity : 

"  Behold  the  vision  of  the  cross,"  she  said, 


THE    INCARNATION. 

"Thy  seed  shall  bruise  the  treach'rous  serpent's  head." 


But  soon  the  seeds  of  sin  were  widely  flung, 
And  in  unnumber'd  forms  to  being  sprung ; 
Hateful  where'er — injurious  to  man, 
And  detrimental  to  God's  gracious  plan ; 
What  fearful  fruit  that  baneful  plant  has  bore ! 
What  madd'ning  passions  have  man's  bosom  tore ! 
How  many  sorrows,  and  how  many  fears, 
How  many  rivers  have  been  shed  of  tears. 
What  wo,  what  murder,  misery  and  crime, 
Have  stained  with  grief  and  gore  the  page  of  Time : 
What  bloody  wars,  what  sacrifice  of  faith, 
What  pain,  disease,  and  wretchedness,  and  death. 

These  were  the  devil's  works  :  these  to  destroy 

App^ar'd  a  Saviour  to  the  patriarch's  eye. 

A  Saviour!     Oh!  'twas  Mercy's  priceless  dower; 

He  comes  to  save  from  sin  and  Satan's  power : 

To  bring  back  peace  on  earth,  and  joy  and  love, 

And  link  lost  man  to  life,  and  God  above ; 

He  comes  to  consummate  the  glorious  plan, 

Retouch,  revive  God's  image  upon  man : 

Light  up  his  passage  through  the  gloomy  grave, 

And  land  him  safe  beyond  death's  stormy  wave ; 

There  to  regain  his  long-lost  high  estate, 

And  smile  triumphant  over  Satan's  hate : 

There  to  enjoy  redemption  full,  complete, 

And  bask  forever  at  his  Saviour's  feet. 

How  sweet  the  ray !  though  streaming  far  and  faint. 
By  which  the  patriarch  could  the  promise  paint ; 


THE    INCARNATION. 

«How  gladd'ning  was  its  light!  as  first  it  shot 
Athwart  the  gloom,  and  cheer'd  his  wretched  lot. 
The  struggling  beam  broke  slowly  on  his  path, 
Chasing  the  darkness,  giving  grace  for  wrath  : 
Slowly  but  sure,  it  showed  the  Sun  would  rise, 

To  bless  the  world,  and  gild  man's  moral  skies. 
i 

So  when  the  sun,  the  dazzling  king  of  day, 
Upon  the  orient  flings  his  herald  ray, 
The  glowing  brightness  tells  his  gradual  rise, 
Nor  bursts  at  once  his  grandeur  on  our  eyes ; 
So  slowly  man  develops  all  his  powers ; 
So  steals  the  Spring  upon  the  wintry  hours ; 
So  rolling  rivers  rise  from  little  rills : 
So  nature  acts,  so  God  in  nature  wills ; 
The  God  of  nature,  is  the  God  of  grace, 
Harmonious  all,  and  equal  are  his  ways. 

Thus  dim  the  dawn,  and  feeble  was  the  ray, 

That  mark'd  the  twilight  of  the  Gospel  day; 

With  mercy  fraught,  on  Adam  first  it  rose, 

With  Time's  still  broad'ning  track,  it  brighter  grows ; 

And  on  the  mind  of  faithful  Abram  shone, 

While  angels  whisper'd  of  the  coming  Sun ; 

Each  new  accession,  thus  man's  mind  prepar'd 

For  larger  light,  which  Israel's  offspring  shared ; 

While  David's  harp  in  sweetest  raptures  rung, 

And  on  the  lyre  of  prophecy  was  sung 

By  seers  successive  through  the  lapse  of  time, 

In  strains  of  lofty  eloquence  sublime, 

The  glorious  dawn,  the  day-spring  from  on  high, 

That  soon  should  burst  upon  man's  wond'ring  eye. 


10  THE    INCARNATION. 

"  By  sin  came  death" — and  doom'd   to  death  man 

stood; 

The  price  of  pardon,  was  the  price  of  blood; 
'Gainst  goodness  infinite  did  he  rebel ; 
No  finite  being's  blood  could  save  from  hell. 
Nought  but  the  precious  blood  of  God's  own  Son, 
Could  for  the  sin-curst  creature  man  atone; 
Not  all  the  rites  and  ceremonies  taught 
To  man  by  Moses,  ere  salvation  brought ; 
Not  all  the  blood  of  goats  or  bullocks  slain, 
That  ere  was  poured  upon  the  purple  plain : 
Not  all  the  victims  that  ere  yielded  life, 
Beneath  the  thirsty  sacrificial  knife : 
Nor  fragrant  incense  that  for  ages  curl'd 
From  golden  censors,  ere  could  save  a  world. 
Not  all  the  washings  of  the  ritual  law, 
From  man's  dark  soul,  one  stain  of  sin  could  draw ; 
But  worthless  all,  and  valueless,  and  vain, 
Save  as  the  symbols  of  a  Saviour  slain ; 
Save  as  they  pointed  to  that  peerless  blood, 
That  from  the  slaughter'd  Lamb  of  Calvary  flow'd  : 
Save  as  the  types,  that  feebly  figured  forth 
That  great  atonement's  sacrificial  worth ; 
And  led  by  faith  the  feeble  mind  of  man, 
Through  them  their  glorious  antetype  to  scan. 

As  the  wreck'd  mariner  with  anxious  eye, 
Waits  day's  first  glimmer  on  the  eastern  sky  ; 
So  watched  mankind  with  long  expectant  gaze, 
The  Sun  of  Righteousness,  whose  healing  rays 
Should  put  the  mists  of  moral  gloom  to  flight, 
And  fill  the  world  with  Heav'n's  refulgent  light. 


THE    INCARNATION.  11 

When  the  Mosaic  shadows  all  should  fly, 
Lost  in  the  glory  of  the  Gospel  sky. 

Now  on  the  willows  Judah's  harp  was  hung, 
That  harp  that  long  its  heaven-taught  strains  had  rung 
In  tones  prophetic,  solemn  and  sublime, 
Along  the  fast  unfolding  flight  of  Time ; 
And  Peace  her  balmy  wings  had  spread  o'er  earth, 
And  all  things  waited  the  Messiah's  birth ; 
While  learned  Rabbi,  sage,  and  sapient  seer, 
Deep  versed  in  Jewish  lore,  proclaimed  him  near ; 
Thus  earth  with  wonder  waited  the  event; 
While  from  heaven's  balcony  bright  angels  bent 
With  deep  amaze,  they  left  their  heavenly  joys, 
To  search  this  mystery  of  mysteries. 

The  appointed  hour  was  come :    great  Gabriel  heard 
His  high  commission  from  th'  Eternal  Word : 
And  on  the  pure  transparent  ether  spread 
His  wings  of  light,  and  swift  to  earth  he  fled : 
Swept  with  disdain  the  clouds  that  curtain'd  Rome, 
Pass'd  kingly  palace,  spire,  and  sumptuous  dome, 
Nor  paused  his  rapid  and  untiring  flight, 
'  Till  Nazareth  he  reach'd,  as  morning  light 
Upon  the  glitt'ring  earth  in  beauty  broke, 
And  thus  to  David's  chosen  daughter  spoke  : 
"  Hail!  thou  art  highly  favor'd,  blest  of  Heaven, 
Behold !  the  promise  unto  thee  is  given, 
To  thee  the  power  of  God  most  high  shall  come, 
Fear  not,  thou  shalt  conceive,  thy  virgin  womb 
Shall  bear  a  Son,  and  thou  shalt  call  him  thus, 
Jesus,  The  Christ,  Immanuel,  God  with  us ; 


12  THE    INCARNATION. 

His  glorious  kingdom  shall  forever  last, 
While  time  remains,  when  time  itself  is  past." 
He  said,  and  rising  on  the  solar  ray, 
Pass'd  the  dense  atmosphere  of  terrestrial  day, 
Pass'd  suns  and  planets  that  revolving  shone, 
Still  tending  up  tow'rd  Heav'n's  eternal  throne ; 
While  to  his  view  its  bright'ning  prospect  swell, 
And  on  his  ear  its  ceaseless  music  fell. 
But  ah !  so  lond  the  song,  so  vast  the  joy 
That  roll'd  in  rapture  round  the  ranks  on  high, 
E'en  Heaven  itself  seem'd  limited  and  small, 
And  Heaven's  own  music  reached  this  earthly  ball. 

At  midnight's  peaceful  hour  when  all  was  still, 

And  the  calm  moonlight  lay  on  lake  and  hill, 

When  with  bright  gaze  the  glitt'ring  stars  of  night, 

Look'd  down  on  earth  through  clouds  of  fleecy  light, 

And  Bethlehem's  shepherds  by  the  babbling  brook 

For  social  converse  had  lain  down  the  crook — 

Behold  !  descending  on  a  snow-white  cloud, 

With  glory  glowing  as  tow'rd  earth  it  bow'd, 

An  angel  rqde,  arrayed  in  dazzling  light, 

The  shepherds  fell  and  trembled  at  the  sight: 

"  Fear  not !"  thus  Heaven  with  mildest  mercy  broke 

Night's  solemn  stillness,  and  to  mortals  spoke ; 

"  Fear  not,  glad  tidings  unto  you  I  bring, 

This  day  in  Bethlehem's  born  a  Saviour,  King. 

Unto  all  people  shall  go  forth  his  fame, 

And  unborn  nations  worship  at  his  name." 

He  ceased,  and  suddenly  upon  the  air 

The  hosts  of  heaven  with  hymn  and  harp  were  there, 

While  songs  celestial  floated  from  afar, 


THE    INCARNATION.  13 

Burst  from  each  cloud,  and  vocal  seemed  each  star ; 
Ne'er  heard  the  list'ning  night  or  ear  of  earth, 
Music  so  sweet  as  told  the  Saviour's  birth; 
While  deathless  hands  o'er  gold-bright  harps  were 

flung, 

And  cherub  there  and  glorious  seraph  sung, 
"  Glory  to  God,  th'  eternal  God  on  high, 
Peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  man  and  joy." 

Trace  with  the  eastern  sage  that  signal  light 
That  walks  in  brightness  through  the  maze  of  night, 
Amidst  the  stars,  the  glitt'ring  stranger  glows, 
And  pours  its  lustre  o'er  that  babe's  repose; 
While  there  the  wise  men  with  devotion  meet, 

Their  homage  render  at  their  Saviour's  feet. 

* 

'Twas  Winter; — cold  and  bitter  blew  the  storm ; 
When  shrined  within  an  infant's  feeble  form 
The  Saviour  came,  and  in  a  cattle  stall 
Appear'd  on  earth,  the  glorious  Lord  of  all ; 
No  princely  hands  a  downy  couch  provide, 
A  manger  rude  the  cradle's  place  supplied ; 
No  costly  gems  were  there,  save  night  had  shed 
Her  sparkling  pearls  around  his  sacred  head, 
And  sweetly  there  the  young  Redeemer  lay, 
His  warmest  bed,  his  softest  pillow,  hay. 

But  from  his  wond'rous  and  mysterious  birth, 

Pursue  his  kind  yet  suffering  path  on  earth, 

To  that  strange  hour  when  Christ  the  God-man  died, 

And  on  the  Roman  cross  was  crucified. 

Scarce  had  the  sun  twelve  summers  roll'd  around, 


14  THE    INCARNATION. 

Ere  in  the  temple  was  the  Saviour  found 
In  deep  discussion  with  the  learned  sage, 
And  the  famed  doctors  of  that  Jewish  age, 
(That  temple  which  ere  long  his  anger  swept, 
That  temple  over  which  the  Saviour  wept.) 

Witness  his  baptism — when  from  above 
Appear'd  the  Holy  Spirit  like  a  Dove, 
While  through  the  glory-clefted  clouds  God  shone, 
And  said,  "  Thou  art  my  well-beloved  Son." 

Led  by  the  Spirit  then,  for  prayer  and  thought, 
Away  from  man,  the  wilderness  he  sought ; 
There  Satan,  too,  his  raven  pinions  bent, 
On  hellish  spite  and  bold  experiment ; 
In  vain  he  then  gave  visionary  birth 
To  all  the  passing  pageantry  of  earth; 
Vain  were  his  wiles,  and  impotent  his  power, 
The  Saviour  conquered  in  the  trying  hour ; 
While  angels  watch'd  and  waited  on  their  God, 
Satan,  confounded,  sought  his  dark  abode. 

But  now  among  the  multitude  he  stands, 

Truth  on  his  lips,  and  virtue  in  his  hands — 

Now  on  th'  mountain  brow,  now  on  th'  sandy  shore, 

To  man  he  speaks,  as  man  ne'er  spoke  before. 

At  his  command  the  trembling  devils  fly, 

And  back  with  haste  to  hell's  dread  caverns  hie; 

He  bids  the  spotted  leprosy  depart ; 

He  heals  the  sick,  and  calms  the  troubled  heart ; 

He  calls,  and  the  dark  grave  gives  up  its  dead, 

The  slumberer  rises  from  his  dusty  bed — 


THE    INCARNATION.  15 

Stern  Death  is  startled  in  his  still  domain, 
And  yields  his  prey  to  life  and  light  again. 
He  speaks,  and  straight  ohedient  to  his  will 
The  storm  is  hush'd,  and  the  wild  winds  are  still ; 
He  calms  the  fury  of  the  fretted  wave, 
And  forth  he  walks  omnipotent  to  save ; 
His  voice  unseals  the  ear,  unties  the  tongue, 
And  bids  it  move  in  eloquence  and  song ; 
The  lame  now  leap,  the  blind  receive  their  sight, 
And  the  dark  eye-ball  drinks  the  living  light; 
Heaven,  earth,  and  hell,  confess  him  God, 
And  nature  bows  submissive  to  his  nod. 

Upon  Mount  Olivet  the  daylight  fades — 

And  Jesus  seeks  Gethsemane's  deep  shades. 

Come  tread  with  silent  step  the  tragic  ground, 

And  guided  by  that  sadly  solemn  sound, 

In  plaintive  accents  hear  the  Saviour  cry, 

"If  possible,  O  let  this  cup  pass  by;" 

While  bursting  from  each  vein,  and  opening  pore, 

His  brow  with  bloody  sweat  is  crimson'd  o'er. 

But  hark ! 

What  sounds  are  those  amidst  the  foliage  dark ; 
From  whence  those  gleams  that  throw  their  fitful 

glare 

Upon  the  thicket,  and  the  peaceful  air? 
What  means  that  babbling  multitude,  whose  feet 
Pollute  devotion's  holiest  retreat? 
They  come !  they  come !  the  Roman  banners  wave 
Above  the  flaming  torch,  the  sword,  and  stave; 
There  Jewish  priests,  and  scribes,  and  elders  walk, 


10  THE    INCARNATION. 

And  foremost  see  dark-visaged  Judas  stalk ; 
Prompted  by  Hell,  impell'd  by  lust  of  gold, 
Disguis'd  by  friendship's  ill-worn  mask  !    behold 
Him  with  an  impious  kiss  his  Lord  betray, 
While  savage  hands  the  Saviour  drag  away. 

Arraigned  he  stands  within  the  Judgment  hall, — 

The  much  wronged  man,  the  mighty  God  of  all ; 

No  marks  of  coward  guilt,  or  felon  fear, 

About  that  heavenly  form  or  face  appear, 

No  anger  flashes  from  his  eye  serene, 

Upon  that  placid  brow  no  shame  is  seen, 

No  bitter,  angry  wrath,  no  murmuring  word, 

Upon  those  sweet  and  holy  lips  were  heard, 

But  truth  and  love,  without  a  single  shade, 

In  purest  lustre  o'er  his  features  play'd  : 

Behold  his  back  the  cruel  soldiers  bare, 

The  dripping  scourge  makes  gory  furrows  there  ; 

With  guilty  palms  they  smite  his  gentle  cheek, 

Insulting  spit  upon  his  face,  so  meek ; 

Deck  him  with  gaudy,  gorgeous  attire, 

And  hail  him  King !  in  their  sarcastic  ire ; 

While  the  rude  crown  of  twisted  thorn  is  bound 

His  sacred  and  his  bleeding  brow  around. 

"  Behold  the  man,"  the  ruthless  Roman  said, 

And  Jesus  forth  for  mockery  was  led ; 

In  mimic  majesty  the  Saviour  trod, — 

Man  reviewed  but  man,  where  angels  saw  a  God. 

Then  from  the  multitude  assembled  there, 
Went  up  a  shout  that  rent  the  ambient  air : 
"Crucify  him!  crucify  him!"  they  cry, 


THE    INCARNATION.  17 

"  Release  Barabbas,  let  this  Jesus  die." 
In  vain  in  his  defence  then  Pilate  stood, — 
"On  us  and  on  our  children  be. his  blood." 
And  like  the  noise  of  many  waters  rose  that  cry ; 
It  rose  to  God,  'twas  registered  on  high. 

Now  the  slow  finger  of  Heaven's  dial  told, 
That  near  some  crisis  in  man's  hist'ry  roll'd  : 
Some  scene  to  which  the  present  and  the  past, 
With  deep'ning  interest,  was  converging  fast : 
Some  vast  event,  with  mighty  import  fraught, 
O'er  which  had  ponder'd  long  angelic  thought; 
And  while  from  Heaven,  its  ranks  of  glory  bend, 
Oft  wond'ring  where  the  mystic  scene  will  end: 
All  Hell  is  roused,  and  Earth  is  rife  with  hate, 
The  great  design  of  Heaven  to  consummate. 
Up  Calvary's  rocky  summit  moving  slow, 
Methinks  I  see  the  strange  procession  go; 
I  see  the  Saviour  bear  that  fatal  tree 
On  which  he  died,  and  died,  O  man,  for  thee ! 
The  iron  enters  now  his  quivering  flesh, 
At  every  cruel  stroke  it  bleeds  afresh, 
'Till  bath'd  with  reeking  blood  and  mangled  sore, 
Aloft  they  raise  the  spectacle  of  gore. 
Angels,  look  down,  behold  the  awful  sight ! 
Ye  gazing  devils,  tremble  .with  affright ! 
Ye  mortals !  listen  to  his  dying  groan, 
Look,  love,  and  live,  and  him  your  Saviour  own. 
Heaven  stays  th'  eternal  music  of  her  lyres, 
And  nature  shudders  while  her  God  expires ; 
The  conscious  sun  with  shame  has  veil'd  his  face  ; 
Earth  'neath  its  burden  trembles  to  its  base ; 
B 


18  THE    INCARNATION. 

The  temple's  vail,  th'  eternal  rocks  are  rent ; 
Death  opes  his  gates,  and  views  the  vast  event; 
For  Jesus  dies, — with  plaintive  voice  he  cried, 
Then  on  his  breast  he  drooped  his  head  and  died. 

For  him  the  new-made  sepulchre  prepare, 
And  gently  lay  the  Lord  of  Glory  there ; 
Bring  precious  ointment,  aloes,  spice  and  myrrh, 
And  linen  clothes, — with  tears  your  Lord  inter : 
'Tis  done, — the  painful,  pleasing  task  is  o'er, 
And  the  huge  stone  is  placed  against  the  door ; 
The  guards  are  set, — the  silent  sentry  keep 
Their  patient  watches  o'er  his  transient  sleep ; 
For  on  the  third  day,  Jesus  Christ  had  said 
He  would  arise,  and  come  forth  from  the  dead. 

'  Twas  midnight, — and  no  star  the  welkin  wore ; 

Nature  with  darkness  deep  was  mantled  o'er, 

And  silence  reign'd,  except  the  measured  tread 

Of  those  who  paced  about  the  Holy  dead, 

And  round  that  rock  with  cautious  footstep  crept, 

In  whose  cold  bosom  the  Redeemer  slept. 

'  Twas  vain  to  guard  a  God, — his  hour  was  come, 

An  earthquake  tells  his  triumph  o'er  the  tomb; 

An  angel  rolls  the  massy  rock  away, 

And  Death  appall'd  gives  up  his  mighty  prey ; 

The  guards  with  terror  struck  as  dead  men  fell, 

While  Jesus  rose,  Conqueror  of  Death  and  Hell. 

As  man,  he  died  for  man — but  rose  a  God ; 
Again  this  sin-polluted  earth  he  trod  ; 
Around  him  gather'd  his  desponding  band, 


THE   INCARNATION.  19 

And  cheer'd   their  hearts,  and  left  them  this  com- 
mand: 

"  Go  to  all  nations,  and  in  every  clime 
This  Gospel  preach,  until  the  end  of  time : 
And  lo !  with  you  I'll  be,  my  power  and  love 
Shall  guard  on  earth,  and  guide  to  heaven  above." 
Then  round  his  form  his  snow-white  robe  he  wrapp'd, 
While  hovering  angels  their  glad  pinions  clapp'd, 
As  borne  aloft  beyond  man's  aching  view, 
The  holy  convoy  pierced  the  azure  blue  ; 
Radiant  with  smiles,  with  glowing  glory  bright, 
Their  dear  Redeemer  left  their  wond'ring  sight. 
Meet  him,  ye  hosts !  who  heaven's  high  places  hold : 
Archangels !  tune  afresh  your  harps  of  gold, 
And  with  united  anthem,  loud  and  sweet, 
Your  coming  God,  our  rising  Saviour  greet; 
Let  all  the  shining  ranks  of  glory  shout, 
For  man  is  saved,  and  Satan  put  to  route ; 
Fling  back  the  everlasting  gates  of  light, 
The  King  of  Glory  claims  his  native  right . 
The  everlasting  doors  are  open  thrown, 
And  Christ  sits  down  on  his  eternal  Throne. 

A  God  incarnate !     Is  the  mystery  o'er  ? 
Eternity  its  wonders  shall  explore; 
Its  theme  shall  live  on  every  angel's  lip, 
That  from  the  fount  of  life  eternal  sip, 
And  ransom'd  millions  round  the  throne  above, 
Shall  sing  forever  of  Redeeming  Love. 
A  God  Incarnate !    'Twas  the  blessed  ray 
That  shone  at  first  on  man's  benighted  way, 
That  lumed  with  glorious  light  along  his  path, 


20  THE   INCARNATION. 

And  broke  the  darkness  of  Mount  Sinai's  wrath ;-, 
To  Him  the  shadowy  antetypes  referr'd, 
He  was  the  substance  of  prophetic  word, 
The  second  Adam ;  the  pattern  pure  of  man, 
When  purged  completely  by  the  gospel  plan. 
A  God  Incarnate !    Crucified  for  man  ! 
Its  vast  results  no  mortal  mind  may  scan  ; 
Its  blessed  influence  on  the  human  soul, 
Is  boundless  as  eternity's  long  roll. 
But  not  alone  the  soul's  salvation  's  wrought 
By  blood  divine,  but  exery  blessing  bought. 
"  By  sin  came  death,"  and  all  beside, 
Is  mercy  flowing  from  a  Saviour's  side : 
That  mercy  ministers  'long  the  path  of  life, 
Cheers  and  sustains  amid  the  dying  strife ; 
Pours  its  rich  radiance  round  the  dreaded  tomb 
That  sin  has  reared,  and  tapestried  with  gloom ; 
Bears  the  freed  spirit  on  its  outspread  wing, 
To  Heaven,  forever  mercy  there  to  sing. 

This  great  salvation,  glorious,  full  and  free, 

With  mighty  power  shall  spread  from  sea  to  sea  : 

That  purple  spring  'midst  Calvary's  rocks  that  rose, 

Whose  wid'ning  wave  to  every  nation  flows, 

Shall,  with  the  ransom'd  on  its  bosom  move 

To  the  calm  ocean  of  Eternal  Love. 

That  Sun  of  Righteousness,  whose  crimson  light 

Chased  the  thick  darkness  of  man's  moral  night, 

Shall  upward  roll,  until  its  bright'ning  ray 

Is  merged  amid  the  blaze  of  ceaseless  day, 

This  blessed  Gospel,  fraught  with  truth  and  grace, 

With  joy  and  love,  shall  sin  and  sorrow  chase, 


THE   INCARNATION.  21 

<• 

'Till  to  all  lands  Truth's  sacred  stream  shall  flow, 
And  every  heart  its  saving  power  shall  know ; 
'Till  universal  love  on  earth  shall  reign, 
And  sinful  man  his  Paradise  regain. 


DEATH. 


O  DEATH  !  them  dreaded  monarch  of  the  tomb ! 

Whom  nature  robes  with  terror  and  with  gloom ; 

Thou  wilt  ere  long  thy  fatal  visit  pay, 

And  we  must  speed,  with  thee,  from  life  away; 

Must  leave  this  old,  this  long  familiar  earth, 

That,  as  a  mother,  we  have  loved  from  birth : 

No  more  to  gaze  upon  yon  glorious  sky, 

Whose  wonders  oft  have  woo'd  the  raptured  eye ; 

No  more  to  mark  the  ruddy  morning  rise, 

Or  day-light  dying  in  the  western  skies ; 

Or  evening  hang  her  lamps  of  heavenly  light, 

In  rich  profusion  o'er  the  glowing  night : 

All  we  must  leave ;  each  form  we've  loved  to  trace 

From  youth  to  age,  on  Nature's  varying  face. 

Yes,  at  thy  summons,  we  must  bid  farewell 

To  every  verdant  vale  and  flowery  dell, 

To  every  waving  wood,  and  sun-lit  hill, 

To  every  ocean,  river,  lake,  and  rill ; 

To  all  the  gladness  of  the  joyous  spring ; 

To  all  the  charms  the  months  of  summer  bring ; 

To  all  the  treasures  golden  autumn  throws ; 


24  THE    SOUL. 

To  winter's  grandeur — storms,  and  frosts,  and  snows ; 

All  human  intercourse  forever  quit, 

And  burst  each  tender  tie  that  time  hath  knit ; 

Each  band  of  friendship  or  affection  here, 

That  the  poor  heart  had  learnt  to  love  too  dear. 

Though  long  and  dreamless  then  shall  be  our  sleep, 

Yon  radiant  sun  his  wanted  course  shall  keep, 

And  sweetly  smile  around  the  unprized  spot, 

Where  me  may  lie,  uncherished  and  forgot ; 

There  her  pale  gleam  the  gentle  moon  shall  fling, 

Or  midnight  darkness  spread  her  raven  wing ; 

And  o'er  our  breasts  Earth's  future  sons  shall  tread, 

Nor  stop  to  think  of  the  unconscious  dead. 

But  ne'er  from  that  deep  slumber  shall  we  wake, 

Until  th'  Archangel's  voice  creation  shake; 

Until,  from  pole  to  pole,  from  shore  to  shore, 

Earth  hears  the  startling  cry,  "  Time  is  no  more.!" 

Then,  at  the  trumpet's  tone,  the  dead  shall  rise, 

To  meet  their  God  in  grandeur  in  the  skies . 


THE    SOUL. 


W  HAT  is  life  worth  1    Go  take  the  tempest's  wing, 
A  nd  fly  where  winds  their  wildest  dirges  sing 
O'er  the  poor  mariner,  whose  final  clasp 
The  floating  wreck's  last  remnant  grasp ; 
A  nd  listen,  while  the  billows  o'er  him  break, 
To  his  heart-rending  cries,  and  dying  shriek,; 


THE    SOUL.  25 

Or  turn  and  seek  the  sinner's  latest  bed, 
To  which  a  life  of  wickedness  has  led. 

What  is  knowledge  1  A  precious  gem  that  lies 
Hid  beneath  this  world's  fashionable  guise : 
See  Archimedes  on  the  sandy  shore, 
Solving  his  problem  'midst  the  battle's  roar : 
Behold  immortal  Newton  scale  the  sky ; 
He  lived  for  knowledge,  but  to  know  must  die. 

Or  what  is  glory  ]  Ask  the  warrior  train, 
Their  laurels  gathered  on  the  gory  plain : 
Ask  the  bold  voyager,  who  through  strange  seas, 
For  fame,  have  braved  the  battle  and  the  breeze : 
Or  ask  the  poet,  by  the  midnight  flame 
Wasting  his  health,  to  purchase  him  a  name. 

And  wealth  !  what  art  thou,  men  so  dearly  prize  ? 
The  rich,  the  poor,  the  ignorant,  the  wise ; 
Grasp'd  more  tenacious  by  the  miser  gray, 
Than  by  the  wretch  who  dies  of  penury. 

Pleasure !  For  thee,  how  mankind  task  each  thought, 
Each  power  inventive  's  into  action  brought : 
For  thee,  life's  gay  and  giddy  rounds  they  run, 
And  chase  the  phantom  to  life's  sinking  sun. 

But  what  is  giddy  pleasure  !  sordid  wealth ! 
Knowledge,  or  glory  ?  bought  with  ease  or  health ; 
Or  life  itself?  each,  any,  or  the  whole, 
Thrown  in  the  balance,  weigh'd  against  the  soul  ? 
Go  to  the  altar  —  see  the  sinner  there, 


26  HAPPINESS. 

His  heaving  bosom  and  his  eye  of  pray'r; 
Mark  the  big  tear-drops  o'er  his  cheeks  that  roll, 
And  hear,  — he  cries,  Have  mercy  on  my  soul. 
For  it  the  martyr  at  the  stake  will  die, 
Joy  in  his  breast,  and  triumph  in  his  eye. 
But  0!  to  Calvary's  awful  summit  fly, 
Behold !  for  souls,  a  God,  a  Saviour  die. 


HAPPINESS. 


MAN'S  primeval  bliss  by  sin  blasted,  destroy'd, 
He  ne'er  shall  regain,  until  God  be  his  guide, 
Through  th'  dark  paths  of  error  still  wand'ring  shall 

go. 
But  happiness  find  not,  ah  never !   oh  no  ! 

We  seek  it  at  first  in  the  follies  of  Youth, 
(Disdaining  the  lessons  of  wisdom  and  truth,) 
In  the  morning  of  life,  'mid  the  young  spirit's  glow, 
But  we  meet  it  not  there,  ah  never !  oh  no ! 

We  seek  it  in  Friendship — while  warm  is  the  heart, 
That   fondly  would  deem   nought   such   friendship 

could  part. 
Those  friends  are  all  .fled,  when  the  storms  of  life 

blow, 
And  'tis  not  in  Friendship,  ah  never !  oh  no ! 


HAPPINESS.  27 

We  seek  it  in  Nature, — we  bow  at  her  shrine, 
And  almost  believe  all  her  beauties  divine ; 
When  false  proves  the  world,  here  for  solace  we  go, 
But  'tis  not  in  Nature,  ah  never !  oh  no ! 

We  seek  it  in  Pleasure, — through  life's  sunny  hours. 
And  unthinkingly  grasp  its  gay  gilded  flowers, 
Nor  dream  of  the  thorn,  that  implanted  below, 
Says  it  is  not  found  here,  ah  never !  oh  no ! 

We  seek  it  in  Love — in  its  impulses  sweet, 

We  fancy  at  length  we  the  fugitive  meet ; — 

Its  griefs  and  its  joys  in  one  chequer'd  stream  flow, 

And  it  is  not  in  Love,  ah  never !  oh  no ! 

In  Honor  we  seek  it :  but  what's  in  a  name  ? 
Though  brightly  emblaz'd  on  earth's  annals  of  fame, 
Though  down  to  the  future  immortal  it  go, 
It  can't  Happiness  give,  ah  never !  oh  no ! 

Some  seek  it  in  Wealth, — how  absurd  is  the  thought ! 
To  fancy  true  bliss  with  earth's  trash  can  be  bought! 
Its  pomp,  and  its  pride,  and  its  glittering  show, 
Cannot  happiness  buy,  ah  never !  oh  no ! 

Where  then  shall  we  seek  it,  where  then  shall  we  find, 
True  joy  for  the  heart,  and  true  peace  for  the  mind? 
Let  loose  every  trust  that  this  world  can  bestow, 
Or  ne'er  will  you  find  it,  ah  never !  oh  no ! 

Go  follow  the  Saviour  up  Calv'ry's  rude  steep, 
'Neath  th'  blood-dripping  cross  in  true  penitence  weep, 


28  WHAT    IS    LIFE. 

* 

Whom  nature  owns   God,  you  your  Saviour  must 

know, 
Or  never  be  happy,  ah  never!  oh  no! 

Here's  happiness  perfect,  though  not  in  degree, 

But  fully  complete  shall  that  happiness  be, 

When  th'  soul  shall  arrive  in  that  world  where  no 

wo, 
Shall  ere  break  its  repose,  ah  never !  oh  no ! 


WHAT   IS   LIFE? 


A  BUBBLE,  on  the  billowy  main, 
A  dew-drop,  on  the  twinkling  plain, 
A  meteor,  in  the  midnight  gloom, 
A  shuttle,  in  the  weaver's  loom, 
A  stream,  that  to  the  ocean  hastes, 
A  morning  cloud,  that  quickly  wastes, 
A  flower,  that  fades  ere  noontide  bright, 
A  verdant  mead,  cut  down  ere  night, 
A  breath,  that  heaves  the  beating  heart, 
A  stage,  and  brief  each  actor's  part, 
A  tale,  that  no  remembrance  makes, 
A  brittle  thread,  that  easy  breaks, 
A  vale  of  tears,  where  sorrows  dwell, 
A  path,  that  leads  to  Heaven  or  Hell, 
A  race,  its  goal  the  silent  grave, 
A  day,  the  soul  to  lose  or  save. 


MOONLIGHT    MUSINGS.  29 


MOONLIGHT  MUSINGS. 


THE  sun  has  gone  down  in  the  gold-curtained  west, 

All  nature  has  sunk  into  calmness  and  rest, 

Nought  breaks  the  deep  silence,  from  man,  beast  or 

bird, 
Save  th'  far  distant  waterfall,  nothing  is  heard. 

Majestic  in  beauty,  the  queen  of  the  night, 
Comes  forth  from  the  east,  with  her  cohorts  of  light, 
Not  a  breath  from  th'  breeze,  or  from  zephyr  a  sigh, 
While  th'  mantle  of  glory  falls  soft  from  on  high. 

How  gentle  the  hour !  and  how  sweet  is  the  ray ! 
Not  gaudy,  and  glaring,  and  dazz'ling  like  day; 
Nor  fierce  is  thy  beam,  nor  oppressively  bright, 
But  placid,  and  peaceful,  and  pensive  thy  light. 

Through  the  leafy-roof 'd  forest  thy  pencil' d  ray  flows, 

Beneath  light  and  shadow  all  lovely  repose, 

'Mong  the  dark-crested  tops  it  streams  down  from 

above, 
The  semblance  of  innocence,  purity,  love. 

Man  sleeps, — and  soft  peace  has  descended  on  earth, 
Now  hush'd  is  its  strife,  and  its  turmoil,  arnhmir th ; 
How  soothing  the  scene !    here  the  wb-stricken  mind 
In  its  balmy  influence,  a  solace  may  find. 

The  conflicts  of  faith,  of  power,  and  of  passion, 
The  revels  of  folly,  the  nonsense  of  fashion, 


30  BEAUTY    IN    TEARS. 

In  this  hour  with  Heaven's  own  serenity  fraught, 
How  little  they  seem,  how  unworthy  a  thought ! 

'Neath  Heaven's  own  temple  my  homage  I'll  pay, 
My  prayer  shall  go  up  on  its  unsullied  ray, 
In  concert  with  yon  bright  worshippers  there, 
Where  sin  never  enter'd,  nor  sorrow,  nor  care. 


BEAUTY    IN    TEARS. 


'  BEAUTY  in  tears:' — yes,  she  did  look 
Like  summer's  lovely  flower ; 

The  reckless  winds  had  rudely  shook, 
That  bent  beneath  the  shower. 

Nor  met  me,  then,  those  eyes  of  glee 

That  I  was  wont  to  meet, 
Nor  was  her  voice  as 't  used  to  be, 

To  me  like  music  sweet. 

•Her  eye-lash  fringe,  with  sorrow  fraught 

Hung  o'er  its  orb  below, 
Her  lips  were  fix'd,  and  pensive  thought 

Sat  on  her  serious  brow. 

She  spoke  of  disappointment's  sting, 
How  death  her  heart  had  tore, 


LANGUAGE    IS    WEAK.  31 

Of  joys  that  quickly  took  their  wing, 
Of  hopes  that  were  no  more. 

I  told  her  of  a  changeless  rest, 

One  firmer  than  a  brother, 
'Twas  a  balm  to  her  bleeding  breast, 

Nor  needed  she  another. 


LANGUAGE    IS    WEAK. 


LANGUAGE  is  weak,  when  it  would  tell 
Those  gushes  of  the  generous  soul, 

That  wake  within  the  rapturous  swell, 
Or  bid  the  gentle  tear-drop  roll. 

For  there  are  feelings  in  the  breast, 
That  never  yet  have  utterance  found; 

And  thoughts  that  still  in  embryo  rest, 
That  never  yet  were  breathed  in  sound. 

Hid  in  the  fountains  of  the  soul,  • 

Like  pearls  in  Ocean's  depths' that  lie, 

Though  o'er  them  many  a  billow  roll, 
Or  many  an  angry  tempest  fly. 

Still  will  those  depths  sometimes  be  stirr'd, 
Roused  by  an  incident,  or  thought, 

A  look,  a  smile,  perhaps  a  word, 
And  into  life  a  moment  brought. 


3-2 


Oft  have  we  wished  the  mental  might, 
To  grasp  tliis  jewelry  of  mind, 

And  to  bring  forth,  to  life  and  light. 
All  in  the  spirit  that's  enshrined. 

But  ever  A'ain,  must  prove  in  part, 
The  power  of  language  to  portray 

The  mysteries  of  the  human  heart, 
Its  loves,  and  hopes,  and  sympathy. 


VIRTUE. 

THIS  world's  a  chequer'd  scene,  where  flows 
A  mingling  stream  of  joys  and  woes ; 
This  life's  a  shadowry  rugged  path, 
And  few  the  gleams  of  good  it  hath ; 
Delusive  rays  of  fancied  bliss, 
Oft  tempt,  man's  wayward  feet  amiss, 
'  Till  from  th'  dangerous  dizyy  steep 
He  falters  to  the  fearful  deep. 
But  there  are  spots  of  purer  light, 
Where  Virtue  sheds  its  radiance  bright, 
Pouring  its  joyous  beams,  heaven-blest! 
Around  the  worn-world-wearied  breast, 
And  leading  far  the  faith-fix'd  eye, 
To  worlds  of  light  and  love  on  high. 
Thy  blessings  these, — 'tis  Virtue's  here 
The  lorn  and  lonely  heart  to  cheer, 


VIRTUE.  33 

O'er  earth  to  bid  the  spirit  rise, 
And  grant  a  charter  for  the  skies. 
Oh !  had  we  kept  thine  humhle  way, 
Nor  sought  the  mazy  world  to  stray, 
Had  kept  thy  upward  pathway  still, 
When  starting  by  life's  babbling  rill, 
And  left  afar  the  world's  wild  shout, 
Nor  from. thy  sure  calm  course  turn'd  out, 
Still  heedless  of  the  Syren's  song, 
Had  urged  thy  bright'ning  track  along, 
How  had  we  'scaped  ten  thousand  snares, 
And  half  life's  load  of  woes  and  cares; 
Been  saved  from  many  a  fearful  fall, 
From  many  a  grief  and  bitter  thrall ; 
Then  memory  her  review  might  make, 
Nor  from  the  past  one  spectre  wake, 
Of  blighted  hopes,  or  murder' d  hours, 
Of  blessings  spurned,  or  misused  powers. 
When  trembling  by  the  crumbling  grave, 
Nature  obeys  the  summons  gave, 
The  soul  her  half-averted  eye 
Would  glance  o'er  life  without  a  sigh  : 
Angelic  Virtue  waiting  by, 
To  aid  its  pinions  to  the  sky. 


34  ANCIENT   CASTLE. 


VIEW  OF  AN  ANCIENT  CASTLE  BY  MOONLIGHT. 


How  solemn  stands  yon  venerable  tower ! 

Yon  crumbling  pile  slow  mould'ring  every  hour : 

Doom'd  to  destruction  —  all  its  pomp  sublime 

Mark'd  by  the  ruthless  hand  of  hoary  Time. 

There  darkness  lurks,  and  gloomy  horrors  reign, 

And  desolation  holds  her  dim  domain. 

How  sweet  the  moonlight  trembles  o'er  the  scene ! 

Gilds  the  gray  front,  and  flings  her  pallid  beam 

'Mong  awful  shades,  and  from  her  chill  retreat 

Drives  ebon  night,  and  shows  her  dreary  seat, 

Streams  through  the  rugged  chinks  where  moping 

sits, 

The  moody  owl,  while  now  and  then  by  fits 
'fhe  flaunting  ivy  flutters  in  the  gale. 


PARTING. 


O  !  THERE'S  a  noble  glow  of  feeling, 
Barren  words  can  never  tell, 

Told  when  the  tear  is  silent  stealing 
From  its  deep  and  crystal  cell ; 

Told  by  the  warm,  the  heartfelt  grasp, 
When  we  bid  the  sad  adieu, 


PAST,  PRESENT,  FUTURE!  35 

Lingering,  reluctant  to  unclasp, 

The  hand  that  tells  the  heart  is  true ; 

Told  by  the  soft,  spontaneous  sigh, 
Heaving  from  th'  burden'd  breast ; 

Told  by  the  love-lit  tell-tale  eye 
Where  affection  is  confest. 


PAST,  PRESENT,  AND  FUTURE. 

MIDWAY  in  life's  rough  paths  we  pause, 

And  on  the  past  reflect. 
Sigh  o'er  the  blessings  that  are  gone, 

And  those  we  have,  reject. 

For  Memory,  the  time-dimm'd  past, 

With  loveliness  arrays ; 
While  Hope,  upon  the  future  throws 

Her  bright  illusive  rays. 

Time  has  its  record  borne  away — 

'  Tis  stereotyped  on  high ; 
Nor  will  the  future  lift  its  veil,- 

To  man's  inquiring  eye. 

The  present  moment,  then,  demands 

Our  most  assiduous  care, 
With  which  to  weave  life's  warp,  and  for 

The  future  to  prepare. 


36  THE    SAPPHIRE    GATHERER; 

For  there's  a  future,  seen  by  faith, 

A  realm  of  ceaseless  rest, 
Beyond  the  bounds  of  changeful  Time, 

Where  Virtue  shall  be  blest. 


THE  SAPPHIRE  GATHERER. 


IN  Cambria's  wilds,  mid  rocks  and  hills, 
And  lonely  glens,  and  mountain  rills, — 
For  many  a  rock,  and  mountain  bare, 
And  many  a  shadowy  glade  are  there  — 
A  peasant  lived,  retired,  remote, 
Close  by  some  cliffs  of  lofty  note, 
That  far  their  dark'ling  shadows  threw, 
A  down  whose  sides  the  sapphire  grew; 
Hard  by,  there  was  by  nature  left 
A  dreary  chasm,  rudely  reft, 
Traditions  tragic  tongue  had  gave 
The  well-known  name  of  'Rennel's  Cave.' 
These  to  his  cottage  sometimes  brought 
Th'  enthusiast  wanderer,  who  sought 
Nature  in  her  own  native  dress, 
And  woo'd  her  in  her  deep  recess. 

Fortune  had  smiled  upon  his  birth, 
But  soon  forsook  him,  and  now  earth 
A  desert  seemed,  friendship  was  lost — 
Friendship,  that  flies  when  wanted  most ; — 
Still  he  was  kind,  his  board  though  scant 


THE    SAPPHIRE    GATHERER.  37 

Supplied  the  way-worn  trav'ler's  want ; 
Nature  he  mused  on,  and  his  grief 
Found  sympathy,  but  not  relief. 
Feelings  by  man  repulsed,  returned, 
And  cent'ring  in  his  bosom  burned, 
Strongly,  with  a  soul  grappling  life, 
Towards  his  sweet  babes,  and  lovely  wife, 
But  haggard  want,  and  drear  distress, 
And  penury  came  'fore  his  face ; 
He  could  not  see  his  wife  in  tears, 
That  now  she  stays,  but  not  her  fears ; 
He  could  not  hear  his  children  cry, 
'  Oh,  feed  me,  Father,  or  I  die.' 

On  the  bold  cliff  whose  jutting  brow, 
Frown'd  o'er  the  fearful  gulf  below, 
Oft  in  his  rambles  he  had  been, 
And  there  the  sapphire-gatherer  seen, 
Attach  upon  its  dizzy  tip, 
The  trusty  rope,  and  downward  slip, 
Fearless  ;   while  from  the  hoary  chinks 
He  culls  the  costly  weed,  nor  thinks 
Of  coward  danger  in  his  bold  emprise ; 
(So  much  in  custom  courage  lies.) 

'Twas  in  November  chill  and  bleak, 
Distress  appear'd  his  heart  to  break; 
One  meals'  short  pittance  for  the  day, 
So  scant  it  could  not  nature  stay, 
Was  all  they  had  ;  this  little  fail'd, 
Nor  care  nor  industry  avail'd ; 
The  babe  hung  on  the  breast  in  vain, 
Its  mother  could  not  life  sustain ; 
The  child  that  play'd  around  his  knee. 


38  THE   SAPPHIRE  GATHERER. 

With  healthy  and  untainted  glee, 
Now  wore  a  weak  and  sickly  hue, 
And  seem'd  to  fade  before  his  view ; 
Hungry  they  leave  the  cheerless  hearth , 
No  more  the  scene  of  social  mirth, 
And  on  their  wretched  pallet  seek 
A  shelter  from  the  blast  so  bleak. 

At  morning  light  the  peasant  rose, 
Strong  purpose  in  his  bosom  glows, 
And  to  the  beetling  cliff  he  hies ; 
The  dangerous  task  he  boldly  tries : 
The  bar  is  fix'd,  the  rope  is  flung, 
Above  the  dread  abyss  now  hung ; 
He  down  the  dangling  rope  descends 
Unto  a  ledge,  that  inward  bends, 
Where  from  each  cleft  and  crevice  peep 
The  hardy  natives  of  the  steep  ; 
Eager  the  precious  weed  to  clasp, 
The  cord  forsakes  his  trembling  grasp, 
His  busy  search  still  he  pursues, 
Nor  yet  his  situation  views, 
'Till  laden  well,  with  cheerful  hope 
He  glad  returns, — but  ah !  the  rope 
His  reach  at  baffling  distance  mocks; 
Above  him  rear  the  scaleless  rocks, 
Beneath  him  rolls  the  restless  surge, 
O'er  broken  points  the  billows  urge, 
So  far  below,  the  ships  there  float 
Seemed  dwindled  to  a  fisher's  boat; 
To  heaven  he  lifts  his  earnest  eyes, 
In  bitter  anguish  burst  his  cries : 
His  list'ning  ear  no  answer  found, 


THE    SAPPHIRE    GATHERED.  39 

Save  hollow  echo  gossip'd  round, 
In  vacant  mockery  the  sound. 
Despair  now  seems  his  soul  to  freeze, 
Around  no  help,  no  hope  he  sees, 
But  thinks  those  rocks  his  dying  bed, 
Sees  vultures  hovering  o'er  his  head, 
And  many  a  storm  and  winter  past, 
His  bones  still  whit'ning  in  the  blast. 
But  on  the  cliff's  extremest  verge, 
His  frantic  wife  and  children  urge : 
Borne  by  the  breeze,  their  piercing  cries 
Arouse  his  spirit's  energies ; 
And  banish'd  hope  his  breast  regains, 
One  hope,  one  effort,  still  remains : 
He  paused  a  moment — he  was  young, 
Courageous,  resolute,  and  strong — 
Summon'd  each  power,  each  nerve  he  braced, 
Resolved  now  life  or  death  to  taste  : 
Into  the  dreadful  void  he  sprung, 
Dash'd  at  the  trembling  cord,  and  clung. 
Again  he  is  restor'd  to  life, 
Again  he  clasps  his  babes  and  wife ; 
'Tis  vain  such  meeting  here  to  paint, 
Pencil's  too  coarse,  colors  too  faint. 


40  SAMARIA'S  DAUGHTER. 


SAMARIA'S   DAUGHTER. 


'Tis  NOON — the  sky  is  clear  and  cloudless — 

And  from  his  high  imperial  throne,  the  Sun 

Unceasing  pours  a  flood  of  fervid  light, 

Upon  the  pensive  and  reposing  earth ; 

The  distant  woods  in  breathless  beauty  bow, 

The  beasts  have  fled,  and  in  the  thicket  deep, 

Or  forest  dense,  or  cool  o'er-arching  glade, 

Have  sought  a  covert  from  the  gaze  of  day. 

All,  man  and  beast,  some  shelt'ring  shade  have  found, 

And  moody  wait  the  balmier  hours  of  eve : 

All,  all  save  one,  behold  along  yon  path, 

Whose    silvery    brightness    through   the  landscape 

gleams, 

The  Saviour  walks,  leading  his  faithful  few  : 
Heedless  of  heat,  he  treads  with  patient  step, 
And  weary  fever'd  foot,  the  burning  dust, 
Bent  on  that  glorious  work  of  heavenly  grace, 
For  whose  accomplishment  he  came  to  earth. 
But  now  he  gains  yon  mountain's  welcome  shade, 
Deep  from  whose  base  the  crystal  waters  spring, 
And  there  upon  a  gray  and  jutting  rock 
In  thought  mysterious, — human  and  divine, — 
Sat  earth's  illustrious  Guest :   nor  sate  he  long, 
Ere  from  the  city  near,  that  peer'd  in  view, 
As  was  her  wont,  Samaria's  daughter  came, 
The  bright  translucent  beverage  to  draw, 
From  out  the  cold  dark  depths  of  that  famed  well, 


DEATH  OF  A  MOTHER.  41 

Where  Israel  oft  had  cool'd  his  hoary  lip, 

And  led  at  Summer's  eve  his  herds  to  drink. 

Adown  its  moss-grown  sides,  the  bucket  dropp'd, 

And  quick  returned.     '  Give  me  to  drink,'  said  he: 

To  whom  the  wond'iing  woman  thus  replied; 

'  Thou  art  a  Jew,  why  askest  thou  of  me  ?' 

'  Didst  thou  know  me,'  he  said,  '  thou  wouldst  have 

ask'd, 

And  I  to  thee  had  living  water  gave.' 
'  From  whence,  sir,  hast  thou  it  ]  art  greater  thou 
Than  Jacob,  who  to  us  this  water  gave  ?' 
'  He  who  this  water  drinks  shall  thirst  again, 
But  who  drinks  that  which  I  to  him  will  give, 
Shall  ne'er  for  earth's  polluted  waters  pant, 
But  it  shall  be  a  fountain  pure  within, 
Still  springing  up  unto  eternal  life.' 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  MOTHER. 


MY  MOTHER  !     O  the  music  of  that  word — 
Though  strange,  now  on  my  tongue — is  never  heard, 
But  in  my  soul  some  tender  chord  is  stirred, 
That  thrills  responsive  to  affection's  power. 
A  mother's  love  is  sure  earth's  sweetest  flower. 
Ah!  who  can  estimate  a  mother's  love?         .     .  :r 
'Tis  kin  to  that  which  burns  in  breasts  above, 
Seeming  as  sinless  as  an  angel's  love; 


42  DEATH   OF   A    MOTHER. 

'Tis  deep,  abiding-,  changeless,  and  sincere, 
Beaming-  through  smiles,  or  bursting  in  a  tear. 

To  memory's  retrospective  eye 
A  vision  rises  of  the  days  gone  by ; — 
First  waked  by  memory's  magic  wand  I  see 
Youth's  sunny  hours  of  gladsomeness  and  glee; 
But  gathering  o'er  that  bright  and  morning  sky, 
I  see  portentious  shades  of  sorrow  fly ; 
Distinctly  mark'd  upon  the  darkling  storm, 
All  robed  in  light,  I  see  a  Mother's  form, — 
Those  eyes  still  beaming  with  her  dying  love, 
That  face  reflecting  all  the  bliss  above. 

Ah  !  there  was  one,  a  playful,  happy  boy, 
So  full  of  hope,  and  innocence,  and  joy — 
Existence  sweet !  he  never  dreamt  life's  sky 
Would  ere  be  darkened  by  a  single  cloud, 
Or  its  fair  flowers  by  wintry  winds  be  bow'd  ; 
And  he  a  mother  had  who  watch'd  his  glee, 
And  many  a  secret  prayer  and  tear  had  she, 
For  this  her  only  and  her  much-loved  boy, 
And  as  he  slept,  she'd  weep  for  very  joy ; 
But  God  that  guardian  angel  call'd  away 
To  live  forever  in  Eternal  day ; 
For  wasting  wan  consumption  came 
With  stealthy  step,  to  desolate  her  frame; 
Reckless  like  Time,  but  certain  in  its  course, 
Slow  in  its  progress,  fatal  in  its  force. 
But  fear  of  Death  ne'er  dim'd  her  faith-lit  eye, 
His  fleshless  fingers  she  could  clasp  with  joy, 
Hail  him  as  one  commissioned  from  above, 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  ADAM  CLARKE.  43 

To  introduce  her  to  a  world  of  love ; 

For  that  Religion  that  through  life  sustained, 

O'er  feeble  nature  now  supremely  reigned  : 

She  found  it  true, — and  in  her  dying  hour, 

Gave  proof  triumphant  of  its  power. 

And  those  who  in  that  privileged  chamber  met, 

Shall  ne'er  the  place,  the  sacred  hour  forget : 

Shall  ne'er  forget  the  joy,  the  heavenly  shout, 

With  which  that  spirit  from  its  clay  went  out: 

Shall  ne'er  forget  the  placid  smile  it  left, 

Imprinted  on  that  form,  by  soul  bereft; 

Reflection  sweet,  of  all  the  bliss  above, 

The  Christian  triumph'd  'mid  the  Mother's  love. 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  REV.  ADAM  CLARKE. 


IMMORTAL  CLARKE  !  thy  strong  capacious  mind, 
Was  rich  with  all  the  knowledge  of  mankind ; 
Though  vast  thy  memory,  vigorous  thy  thought, 
Still  all  was  calm,  to  peaceful  fervor  wrought : 
'Twas  Truth's  great  store-house,  placid  and  serene, 
Where  no  confusioVere  was  felt  or  seen; 
And  all  its  wealth  was  oifer'd  at  the  Cross ; — 
Compared  with  which  he  counted  all  things  loss. 
Wesley  the  ground-work  laid  in  all  its  length 
Of  the  fair  fabric,  to  which  Clarke  gave  strength, 
Gave  grace,  and  symmetry,  proportion  fair, 
And  shed  a  pure,  and  steady  lustre  there. 


44  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  REV.  E.  ROBERTS. 

Brightly  he  shone — but  with  no  meteor  light, 
Flaming  and  flashing  o'er  the  brow  of  night: 
But  like  the  sun,  emerging  slow  sublime, 
He  rose  upon  the  shadowy  arch  of  time : 
'Till  in  meridian  power  we  saw  him  shine, 
Bright'ning  and  broad'ning,  unto  life's  decline. 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  REV.  E.  ROBERTS. 

WEEP, — for  that  much-loved  man  of  God 
Lays  low  beneath  the  unconscious  clod, 
That  form  we  proudly  gazed  upon, 
To  the  dark  mould'ring  grave  has  gone. 

Weep  —  for  society  was  reft, 
When  earth  the  sainted  Roberts  left, 
When  his  freed  spirit  spread  its  plume, 
Beyond  the  reach  of  grief  and  gloom. 

Weep — for  with  love  and  Christian  zeal, 
He  sought  our  best  our  highest  weal : 
Spent  in  Salvation's  work  his  breath, 
And  clothed  with  conquest,  fell  in  death. 

Weep — for  full  well  the  church  may  mourn, 
A  pillar  from  its  temple  torn  : 
O  sinner,  weep !  for  weep  you  may, 
Perhaps,  with  him  went  Salvation's  day. 


SABBATH    MORNING.  45 

Weep  —  for  no  more  that  fluent  tongue, 
Shall  pour  in  eloquence  or  song, 
Its  faithful  and  its  heaven-taught  strain 
In  Mortality's  dull  ear  again. 

No  more  he  '11  raise  the  uplifted  hand, 
And  point  you  to  the  heavenly  land; 
No  more  those  faithful  feet  shall  trace, 
Their  pathway  to  a  Throne  of  Grace. 

No  more  those  lips  shall  move  in  pray'r, 
No  more  that  heart  its  burden  bear ; 
No;    earth's  last  pillow  he  hath  prest, 
And  gone  to  his  eternal  rest. 

Weep  not,  for  now  his  sainted  soul, 
Soars  far  above  the  starry  pole, 
And  palms  of  vict'ry  he  shall  bear, 
And  live  in  bliss  forever  there. 


SABBATH    MORNING. 


GOD  of  the  morning !  the  bright  sun 
Has  rose  at  thy  command, 

And  his  majestic  course  begun, 
O'er  the  rejoicing  land. 


46  TRUE    ENJOYMENT. 

His  genial  ray  begins  to  chase 
The  wintry  gloom  away, 

And  gentle  Spring  awaits  to  grace 
Earth  with  her  green  array. 

God  of  the  Sabbath !    let  the  Sun 

Of  Righteousness  arise, 
Its  race  already  is  begun ; 

The  night  already  flies. 

Brighter  and  brighter  may  it  beam, 
With  healing  'neath  its  wings, 

Till  every  land  has  caught  its  gleam, 
Till  every  Island  sings  : 

Until  this  wide  terraqueous  ball 

One  mighty  temple  is, 
Till  all  upon  his  name  shall  call, 

And  one  vast  song  arise. 


TRUE    ENJOYMENT. 


O  ASK  not  a  name  on  the  annals  of  Fame, 
'Mong  the  proud  and  ambitious  of  earth ; 

O  ask  not  for  gold,  nor  the  wreath  of  the  bold, 
Nor  the  fleeting  enjoyments  of  mirth  : 


THE    SEASONS.  47 

For  wealth  may  take  flight,  and  fame  's  a  false  light, 

That  glitters  but  to  lure  and  deceive ; 
And  the  wreath  of  the  brave  is  pluck'd  from  the  grave 

Where  the  widow  and  fatherless  grieve. 

O  ask  not  gay  leisure  for  fashion  and  pleasure, 

Those  butterfly  baubles  of  life ; 
Nor  think  for  to  hide  in  a  mansion  of  pride, 

From  the  world's  wo,  sorrow,  and  strife. 

But  ask  for  a  rest  in  your  conscience-calmed  breast ; 

The  bosom's  bright  sun-shine  of  love : 
Ask  a  heav'n-written  name,  a  registered  claim 

To  the  unfading  enjoyments  above. 


THE    SEASONS. 


See  Summer's  ardent  heat  intensely  burn ; 

Next  Nature's  restless  scale  brown  Autumn  turn  : 

With  lavish  hand  her  blooming  sweets  display, 

Ambrosial  offspring  of  the  solar  ray ; 

Till  Winter  frowns,  and  with  destructive  breath 

Blasts  each  fair  form  in  universal  death. 

But  lovely  Spring  comes  gleaming  through  the  skies, 

Etherial  beauty  o'er  the  world  shall  rise — 

Rise  from  the  ruins  of  rude  Winter's  spoils, 

And  bless  the  world  with  her  propitious  smiles. 


48  SPRING. 


SPRING. 


HAIL  !  lovely  Spring !  thy  genial  ray, 
Chases  stern  Winter's  gloom  away : 
Nature  from  ruin  rising  sings, 
And  joy  in  human  bosom  springs, 
For  Winter's  ruder  reign  is  past, 
The  furious  storm,  the  bitter  blast, 
And  bird's  are  twittering  in  the  brake, 
And  smiles  are  dimpling  on  the  lake, 
And  falling  showers,  and  sunny  hours, 
And  bubbling  rills,  and  opening  flowers, 
And  insect  hum,  and  bursting  buds, 
And  murmur  of  the  gushing  floods, 
Proclaim  thee  here,  and  bid  man  raise, 
With  nature,  songs  of  joy  and  praise. 


FAREWELL    TO    SUMMER 


YES,  go,  tliou  bright  winged  Summer,  go ! 

Along  thy  flowery  track, 
With  all  thy  golden  beauty  go, 

I  would  not  call  thee  back. 


FAREWELL   TO   SUMMER.  49 

Round  earth  refulgent  Summer,  roll ! 

Thou  radiant  one  adieu  ! 
Go,  Queen  of  Nature,  over  all, 

Thy  beauteous  blessings  strew. 

Thou  'rt  gone,  —  and  tearful  is  the  sky, 

The  sear  woods  mourn  thy  flight, 
The  flowers  seem  resolved  to  die, 

Bowing  'neath  sorrows'  blight. 

Though  brief,  yet  bright,  has  been  thy  smile, 

Upon  the  changing  earth, 
Awaking  o'er  the  teeming  soil, 

Its  beauty  into  birth. 

Until  with  loveliness  and  life, 

Was  clothed  the  verdant  land, 
And  earth  with  perfect  beauty  rife, 

Waited  the  gatherer's  hand. 

Thus,  when  this  varied  life  is  o'er, 

And  its  last  hours  have  come, 
By  Truth's  eternal  light  mature, 

Should  man  be  garner'd  home. 


50  AUTUMN. 


AUTUMN. 


THE  buds  ^nd  the  blossoms  of  Spring  are  all  dead, 
The  beauty  and  brightness  of  Summer  has  fled, 
The  cold  hollow  winds  of  the  Autumn  are  here, 
And  the  leaves  of  the  forest  are  yellow  and  sear. 

Now  loiters  the  lazy  mist  sluggish  and  still, 
On  the  side  of  the  solitary  songless  hill, 
The  verdure  has  vanish'd,  the  beautiful  green, 
And  the  rich  tints  of  Autumn  embellish  the  scene. 

Yes,  Autumn  has  come,  mellow,  pensive  and  sad, 
In  her  many-hued  robe  of  loveliness  clad, 
And  scarcely  a  breeze  o'er  the  mountain  s  brow  blows, 
As  th'  wide-spreading  woods  in  their  calmness  repose. 

But  Winter  will  come — 'tis  now  heard  in  the  breeze, 
That  th'  fast-fading  foliage  strips  from  the  trees, 
And  soon  it  shall  mantle  the  earth  with  its  shroud, 
As  age  brings  its  white  locks  when  manhood  is  bow'd. 


FALL   OF   THE    YEAR.  51 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  YEAR. 


FAIR  Spring1,  the  bland  mother  of  bright  months  has 
past, 

All  the  glory  of  Summer  ''s  gone  by, 
And  the  farewell  of  Autumn  is  heard  in  the  blast, 

As  it  fitfully  sweeps  o'er  the  sky. 

When  I  gaze  on.the  sky,  with  its  canopy  high, 
Where  the  clouds  by  the  tempests  are  driv'n, 

Then  I  think  of  the  day,  when  it  shall  pass  away, 
By  the  time-rending  trumpet's  tone  riv'n. 

When  I  look  at  the  forest,  so  verdant  of  late, 
With  its  branches  now  leafless  and  bare, 

I'm  admonish'd  it  is,  too,  mortality's  fate, 
Which  I  sooner  or  later  must  share. 

When  I  look  at  the  leaves,  as  they  lie  on  the  ground, 

They  tell  me  of  death  and  decay, 
And  remind  me  that  all  things  material  are  bound 

For  to  moulder  again  into  clay. 

So  to  being  thus  rises,  and  ripens,  and  dies, 

All  that  is  lovely,  beautiful,  bright, 
All  that  glads  the  green  earth,  or  that  glows  in  the 
skies, — 

All  must  bow  to  time's  pitiless  blight. 


52  WINTER. 

I 

Thus  man  from  his  cradle,  goes  forth  for  the  grave, 
Nor  recks  it  how  fair,  or  virtuous,  or  brave; 
The  sunshine  of  life  must  be  changed  for  its  gloom, 
The  flowers  of  youth,  mark  the  path  to  the  tomb. 

But  Spring,  with  her  sun-gleam  shall  visit  again, 
Yon  bleak  mountain  brow,  andjyon  desolate  glen, 
And  'mong  the  green  branches  the  glad  birds  shall 

sing, 
And  wave  on  the  soft  air  their  swift  joyous  wing. 

So  man  (the  material)  may  rot  'nea*th  the  clod, 
But  again  he  shall  rise, —  shall  rise  like  a  God : 
Shall  come  up  from  his  deep,  his  dark  dusty  bed, 
With  eternity's  sunshine  bright  o'er  his  head. 


WINTER. 


Now  pile  up  the  wood,  and  rouse  the  bright  fire, 
For  winter  is  here,  and  reckless  his  ire : 
The  hoary  old  eld  comes  sternly  at  last, 
His  ice-car  is  yoked  to  the  fierce  north  blast; 
He  comes  from  the  realms  of  the  cold  polar  star, 
From  the  frost-bound  land  of  his  might  afar, 
The  winds  are  his  steeds,  the  snow-storm  his  path, 
And  th'  elements  all  are  the  slaves  of  his  wrath. 
The  pitiless  monarch,  now  rides  on  the  storm, 


53 


With  icicled  locks,  and  frost-fretted  form, 

With  cold  glassy  eyes,  and  keen  bitter  breath, 

He  looks, — and  there  is  the  image  of  death; 

He  breathes,  chilling  life  intensely  around ; 

And  nature  is  wither'd,  and  seal'd  is  the  ground ; 

He  fetters  the  river,  and  on  the  bold  steep 

He  grasps  the  bright  stream  in  its  glittering  leap ; 

Th'  forest  stands  leafless,  all  'reft  and  aghast, 

And  creaks  its  stiff  limbs  as  th'  despot  rides  past; 

Few  are  its  wand'rers,  on  foot  or  on  wing, 

No  warbler  th'  tyrant  a  welcome  will  sing. 

Each  creature  dismay'd,  droops  moody  and  still, 

And  voiceless  the  valley,  and  voiceless  the  hill ; 

E'en  babbling  echo  in  deep  slumber  seems, 

Save  when  by  th'  rifle  aroused  from  her  dreams. 

Vegetation  all  rests,  imprisoned  in  earth, 

Till  warm  vernal  suns  shall  wake  it  to  birth, 

Till  nature  shall  change  her  vestal  of  white, 

That  glistens  and  gleams  in  th'  noontide  of  light, 

For  garments  of  green,  and  wreaths  of  fair  flow'rs, 

When  Spring  leadeth  on  the  bright  sunny  hours, 

And  glads  with  her  beauty,  forest  and  field, 

And  to  her  bland  smiles,  th'  stern  tyrant  shall  yield. 


54  THE    SNOW. 


THE    SNOW. 


Now  soft  and  silent  from  above, 

Like  mercy  from  the  Throne  of  Love, 

Heaven  casts  on  earth  its  vesture  white, 

The  spotless  image  of  its  light. 

See  dimly  waving  through  the  sky 

The  downy  flakes  incessant  fly, 

Resting  their  feathery  load  on  all, 

The  tender  twig,  the  cedar  tall, 

The  graceful  poplar  straight  and  slim, 

The  aged  oak,  the  knarled  limb, 

The  lowly  vale,  the  silent  copse, 

The  level  mead,  the  mountain  tops, — 

Immantled  all  in  silvery  light  they  shine, 

And  own  the  hand  that  clothed  them  was  divine. 

But  eve  comes  on,  now  clear  and  cold, 

The  silvery  whiteness  gleams  with  gold. 

How  great !  how  lovely  !  and  how  grand ! 

The  works  of  thy  Almighty  hand ; 

The  seasons  as  they  roll,  proclaim 

Thy  power  and  goodness  are  the  same. 

Nor  budding  Spring,  nor  Summers  ray, 

Alone  delight,  and  love  display, 

But  Autumn  too,  as  round  her  fruits  she  casts, 

And  Winter,  with  her  storms  and  northern  blasts. 


THE    LATE    SPRING   OF   '43.  55 


ON  THE  LATE  SPRING  OF  1843. 


RUDE  WINTER  !  long  has  been  thy  reign, 
Upon  the  mountain,  and  the  plain ; 
Reluctant  long,  wert  thou  to  yield, 
Thy  rule  o'er  forest,  flower,  and  field ; 
Though  Spring  with  tearful  eye  was  seen, 
And  angel  smile,  and  youthful  mein, 
To  woo  thee  from  thy  stern  intent, 
That  seem'd  on  nature's  ruin  bent; 
Though  coy  and  bashful,  long  she  strove 
Thy  icy  hand  and  heart  to  move, 
And  gently  from  thy  grasp  to  gain 
Her  wonted  right  on  earth  to  reign. 

E'en  beauty's  power  the  hoar  eld  felt; 
His  frost-bound  heart  began  to  melt, 
His  iron  hand  relaxed  at  last, 
The  sceptre  fell ;  and  on  the  blast, 
Mutt'ring  to  northern  realms  he  past. 
She  claim'd  it  hers,  and  round  her  drew 
Her  robe  of  bright  ethereal  blue : 
The  flowers  sprung  up  beneath  her  tread ; 
A  crown  of  sunshine  clothed  her  head; 
A  wreath  of  roses  girt  her  waist, 
As  up  from  earth  she  rose  in  haste. 
O'er  her  domain  a  smile  she  threw, 
And  Winter's  ling'ring  shades  withdrew ; 
She  breathed — and  balmy  was  the  air, 
Whispers  of  love,  that  check'd  despair, 
Upon  the  floating  breeze  were  heard, 


56  LINES   TO   J.    P. 

That  through  the  leafless  branches  stirr'd, 
While  soft  as  falling  tears,  came  showers, 
Succeeded  soon  by  sunny  hours. 

Nature  looked  up  with  cheerful  eye, 
She  saw  the  wintry  storm  was  by, 
She  doffed  her  mourning — put  on  green, 
While  peeping  buds,  and  flowers  were  seen, 
With  blushing  charms,  and  odors  sweet, 
Expanding  Spring's  warm  kiss  to  meet ; 
The  humming  bird,  on  tiny  plume, 
Was  visiting  the  bursting  bloom; 
While  sportive  tribes  of  insects  play, 
Upon  the  life-awakening  ray ; 
And  blackbird,  jay,  and  turtle-dqve 
On  every  tree  told  tales  of  love ; 
All  that  had  voice,  Spring's  welcome  sung ; 
And  heaven  and  earth  with  rapture  rung. 
Let  man  the  strain  prolong,  and  raise 
To  God  his  gratitude  and  praise. 


LINES   TO   J.   P. 

IT'S  not  in  resentment  thy  love  I  resign  ; 

I  blame  not,  upbraid  not,  one  motive  of  thine ; 

I  ask  not  what  change  has  come  over  thy  heart ; 

I  ask  not  what  chances  have  doom'd  us  to  part ; 

I  but  know  by  actions — I  must  admire  thee  no  more, 

And  still  must  obey  where  I  once  did  adore. 


A   WINTER    SCENE.  57 


HIS      ANSWER. 


IN  sorrow  I  learn  from  thy  beautiful  line, 

I've  unconsciously  wounded  that  bosom  o'  thine ; 

I  errd,  it  is  true,  but  I  err'd  not  in  heart; 

I  ask  should  such  chances  then  doom  us  to  part? 

If  I've  caused  thee  one  tear,  or  waled  one  regret, 

I  know  that  thou  still  canst  forgive  and  forget; 

I  know  that  I  love  thee,  nay  almost  adore, 

And  for  what  thou  hast  written,  I  love  thee  the  more. 


A    WINTER    SCENE. 


O  YE  !  who  with  life's  luxuries  are  blest, 
And  nightly  on  your  down)''  pillows  rest. 
Who  loll  at  ease  in  warm  well-furnished  rooms, 
Where  want  nor  winter  scarcely  ever  comes ; 
Whose  frames  are  clad  by  Fashion's  costly  hand ; 
Who  feast  upon  the  fattest  of  the  land  : 
Around  whose  pathway  wealth  profusely  flings 
The  varied  blessings  fickle  fortune  brings ; 
\Vho  feel  no  inward  dread,  nor  anxious  fear, 
While  art  defies  the  tyrant  of  the  year. 
Ye  sons  of  soft  indulgence !  and  ye  fair! 
Whose  forms  the  flaunting  robes  of  fashion  bear ; 
Votaries  of  pride  and  folly !  ye  know  not 


58  A    WINTER   SCENE. 

One  half  the  sorrows  of  the  poor  man's  lot—- 
The ills,  the  hardships,  struggles,  cares  and  woes, 
That  rend  his  heart,  and  hinder  his  repose. 

All  day  the  wintry  winds  that  wailed  without, 

With  fury  whirled  the  fleecy  storm  about, 

And  many  a  wreath  of  drifted  snow  was  seen, 

Ere  came  the  ruddy  sunset,  cold  and  keen : 

While  from  the  west  of  the  cerulean  sky, 

The  young  moon  looked  with  half  averted  eye, 

And  all  the  stars  that  e'er  graced  heaven's  arch, 

Went  forth  that  evening  on  their  midnight  march  ; 

The  biting  frost  intensely  breathed  around; 

The  floods  were  fettered,  and  seal'd  fast  the  ground, 

And  naught  was  heard  amid  the  whitened  waste, 

Save  the  wild  murmurs  of  the  passing  blast; 

I  heard — 'twas  fancy — no,  I  heard  a  groan — 

How  full  of  misery  that  plaintive  tone ! 

Of  anguish,  and  despair,  and  mental  strife, 

Far  fiercer  than  the  pangs  of  parting  life  : 

I  listened  till  I  found  those  accents  flowed 

From  yonder  hovel's  comfortless  abode ; 

I  knew  as  on  the  fitful  gust  they  swept, 

Father  and  family  together  wept. 

Once  he  was  fortune's  favorite — but  oh ! 

In  want  and  wretchedness  she  laid  him  low  : 

Frowned  on  his  fate,  and  blasted  it  with  gloom, 

Though  long  he  proudly  struggled  'gainst  bis  doom, 

Till  from  each  hope  by  disappointment  driv'n, 

His  only  hope  was  in  the  grave — and  Heav'n. 

Then  ruthless,  unrelenting  Winter  saw 

Those  trembling  wretches  on  their  couch  of  straw ; 


THE   INDIAN.  59 

All  destitute  of  fuel,  food,  and  fire, 
With  scarce  a  ray  to  screen  them  from  his  ire, 
While  the  congealing  night-wind  rudely  rolled, 
And  to  the  ear  this  tale  of  sorrow  told. 
Alas !  the  picture's  not  o'erwrought,  nor  rare, 
Thou  wealthy,  proud  professor,  then  beware, 
God  holds  thee  guilty,  if  thou  hast  forgot, 
The  care  He  claimeth  for  the  poor  man's  lot. 


THE    INDIAN. 


O  !  let  the  white  man  ne'er  forget, 
The  red  man  once  his  wigwam  set, 
Upon  the  site  his  footsteps  tread, 
Where  scenes  of  commerce  now  are  spread. 

These  hills  he  roam'd  with  arrow  fleet, 
Himself  almost  as  swift  of  feet ; 
These  hills  were  lit  with  th'  lurid  glance 
Of  council  lire,  rmid  th'  mystic  dance. 

And  where  the  moonlight's  gentle  gleam 
Glides  through  the  thicket  on  the  stream, 
The  youthful  Indian  oft  has  hied, 
And  woo'd  at  eve  his  sunburnt  bride. 

All  these  were  his,  to  him  were  given 
By  the  all-wise  bequest  of  Heaven, 


60  THE    INDIAN. 

Ere  bold  Columb.us  tracked  the  seas, 
And  braved  the  billow  and  the  breeze. 

But  science,  like  some  distant  star, 
Beam'd  on  his  spirit  from  afar, — 
With  prescient  hope,  another  world 
He  sought,  and  there  his  flag  unfurl'd. 

With  (Art  and  Science  in  its  train) 
The  wings  of  commerce  cross'd  the  main, 
All  that  was  good,  or  great,  or  fair, 
Found  residence  and  shelter  there. 

Now  o?er  the  broad  scarce-bounded  scene, 
Are  plenty,  peace,  and  freedom  seen ; 
God  has  designed  in  later  days, 
Truth/s  mighty  temple  here  to  raise. 

But,  ah !  there  is  that  still  must  mar, 
The  glory  of  thy  brightest  star — 
It  is  a  stain  of  crimson  guilt, 
It  is  the  blood  of  Indians,  spilt. 

No  more  let  history  inscribe, 
Oppression  to  the  savage  tribe ; 
Pity  the  injured  Indian  race, 
Nor  drive  him  from  his  resting  place. 


THE    LYRE    OF    FREEDOM.  61 


THE    LYRE    OF    FREEDOM. 

A    FRAGMENT. 

When  Bums  the  startling  summons  gave, 
And  roused  to  victory  or  the  grave, 
Renowned  Scotia's  hardy  son, 
His  plume,  and  plaid,  and  tartar  on; 
How  quick  the  work  of  death  was  done. 
To  glory,  too,  the  gallant  Gaul, 
Woke,  at  the  poet's  thrilling  call, 
Armed  in  his  injured  country's  cause, 
And  bade  the  tyrant  despot  pause. 
The  poet's  song,  and  raptured  ryme, 
In  every  age  and  every  clime, 
Had  power — if  not,  as  some  relate, 
To  move  e'en  things  inanimate — 
To  urge  the  high  impetuous  soul, 
Or  bid  the  gentle  tear-drop  roll. 

***** 
'T  is  not  for  him  whose  only  aim 
Is  worldly  gain,  or  worldly  fame ; 
Far  above  these  his  soul  must  mount, 
And  drink  from  the  celestial  fount ; 
And  sweep  the  bold  extatic  lyre, 
That  genius,  truth,  and  love  inspire. 


62  CHANGE. 


CHANGE. 


O  Change!    creation  owns  thy  power, 

And  bows  to  thy  command; 
Press'd  to  thy  work,  each  swift-wing' d  hour, 

With  sure  unerring  hand, 
Its  impress  true  on  all  applies, 
And  finishing  its  labor,  flies. 
There's  naught  escapes  thy  searching  sway, 
Though  hidden  from  the  blaze  of  day; 
Though  mured  in  Egypt's  arid  cave, 
That  seemeth  being's  changeless  grave ; 
Though  buried  deep  on  ocean's  floor, 
O'er  which  the  welt'ring  billows  roar ; 
Though  in  the  dark  and  silent  earth, 
The  fruitful  womb  of  being's  birth, 
Whence  all  her  countless  forms  arise, 
As  matter  buds,  matures,  and  dies ; 
There's  nought  in  ocean,  earth,  or  sky, 
But  thou  wilt  seal  its  destiny. 
O  Change !  thy  servitor,  Decay, 

Is  ever  in  the  rear, 
To  track  thee  on  thy  wond'rous  way, 

And  with  dark  death  to  sear 
Whate'er  material  thou  hast  taught 
To  live,  and  bloom,  with  beauty  fraught. 
Man's  mortal  frame,  with  every  breath, 
Is  hurrying  on  with  haste  to  death. 
Earth's  loveliest  flower  ere  eve  may  fade, 


63 


And  withered  on  her  lap  be  laid. 

The  giant  oak,  though  strong  and  tall, 

Thy  might  confesses  in  its  fall ; 

All  have  their  youth,  climax,  decay — 

To  death  conducts  the  rip'ning  ray ; 

With  silent  but  progressive  power, 

Thou  thus  shalt  rule  each  year  and  hour, 

Until  the  fiery  god  of  day, 

Himself  shall  bow  beneath  thy  sway. 

O  Change!  thy  melancholy  story, 
Is  writ  upon  the  past — 

Upon  the  wrecks  of  perished  glory, 

That  o'er  the  world  are  cast, 
Like  fragments  rising  from  the  deep, 
Where  dark  oblivion's  waters  sweep. 
The  palace  proud,  with  ivied  crest, 
The  crumbling  castle,  battle's  breas.t, 
The  abbey  hoar,  with  cloister'd  monk, 
All  works  of  art,  to  ruin  sunk  ; 
Palmyra's  colonades  and  aisles, 
Egypt's  hieroglyphic  piles, 
Athenean  beauty,  Roman  pride, 
Pompeii  rescued  from  time's  tide — 
All  speak  with  eloquence,  and  tell 
Of  those  who  'neath  thy  power  have  fell. 
Thine  is  the  tide,  whose  onward  wave, 
Has  made  this  world  a  mighty  grave ; 
While  tears  in  torrents  have  been  wept, 
As  one  by  one,  thy  fury  swept, 
From  regal  hall,  or  cottage  hearth, 
The  mighty,  or  the  loved  of  earth. 


G4 


But  Change  !   there's  mercy  in  thy  might, 

There's  beauty  in  thy  power, 
Good,  in  the  darkness  and  the  light, 

And  love  in  every  hour  : 
And  storms,  than  sunny  hours  no  less, 
The  goodness  of  a  God  express. 


LIBERTY. 

The  voice  of  Liberty  is  heard, 

Echoing  from  every  land ; 
'  Mutual  rights,'  is  her  watch-word, 

And  Truth  alone  her  brand. 

Green  Erin's  harp,  its  stirring  strain, 

To  liberty  has  woke  ; 
And  sea-girt  Albion's  sons  disclaim 

Th'  oppressor's  servile  yoke. 

The  Russian  despot's  frigid  sky, 
Once  heard  its  thrilling  tone ; 

The  noble  Poles  expiring  cry, 
Its  energy  has  shown. 

The  high-born  Greek  by  freedom  bade, 
Threw  back  the  tyrant's  claim, 

And  brandish'd  his  avenging  blade, 
For  liberty  and  fame. 


65 


Nor  long  shall  superstition  hold, 

In  bonds  th'  immortal  mind  : 
Virtue  and  truth  have  made  man  bold, 

Its   shackles  to  unbind. 

The  sceptre,  powerless,  from  the  grasp 

Of  tyrant  hands  must  fall : 
And  Worth  alone,  that  sceptre  clasp,  / 

If  clasp'd  again  at  all. 

Sweet  mountain  Nymph !  pure  Nature's  child  ! 

0  Liberty,   art  thou! 
Loving  the  forest's  lonely  wild, 

The  rugged  steep,  and  barren  brow. 

From  courtly  pride  thou  erst  hast  fled, 

And  sought  this  woody  shore, 
Whose  sons  for  thee  have  nobly  bled, 

Whose  sons  thy  name  adore. 


AMERICA. 


Where's  Babylon,  the  first  empire? 

Where  now  her  ramparts  rise  ? 
And  where  is  lofty  Babel's  pyre, 

Peering  in  eastern  skies  ? 
E 


66 


And  where  Assyria,  famed  of  old  ? 

That  great  but  wicked  nation ; 
Along  whose  streets  the  prophet  told, 

Its  dread  denunciation. 

And  Egypt  where?  where  first  the  light 
Of  science  gleam' d  obscure? 

And  as  in  dark  oblivion's  spite, 
Rear'd  the  stupendous  tower. 

Greece !  where  is  thy  arcadian  bower, 
Where  Art  and  Science  dwelt? 

Where  is  the  sumptuous  Persian  power, 
And  he  Heav'n's  vengeance  dealt  ? 

And  Alexander,  who  unfurl'd 
Boundless  power's  pennon,  now? 

While  the  laurels  of  a  conquer'd  world, 
Wreath'd  his  ambitious  brow. 

O  Rome !  and  tarnish'd  is  thy  glory ! 

Has  genius  fled  the  scene  ? 
,  Still  sculptured  fragments  tell  the  story  * 

Of  much  that  thou  hast  been. 

The  weed  has  round  thy  relics  clung, 

And  ages  o'er  thee  swept, 
And  Time  her  awful  requiem  sung, 

And  many  a  spirit  wept. 

America !  to  thee,  blest  land, 
I  turn,  from  empire's  fall, 


.        AMERICA.  67 

O'er  whom  stern  fate's  imperious  hand 
Has  spread  oblivion's  pall. 

To  thee,  who  phcsnix-like  art  merging, 

From  many  a  nation's  wreck  : 
Like  to  the  morning  sun's  bright  verging, 

Or  beams  that  night  bedeck. 

Behold  it  stretch'd  from  sea  to  sea, 

From  day-spring  to  its  goal, 
And  like  its  wand'ring  rivers,  free, 

Like  its  oceans,  no  control. 

Her  ample  lap  with  blessings  teeming, 

And  beauty  o'er  her  soil, 
And  her  high  mountain  peaks  are  gleamig, 

With  Heaven's  propitious  smile. 

A  voice  is  on  her  mighty  waters, 

A  voice  is  on  her  floods, 
Heard,  joyous  by  her  sons  and  daughters, 

In  her  primeval  woods. 

It  is  the  voice  of  Liberty, 

That  on  her  rivers  roll'd, 
As  on  deep  murm'ring  to  the  sea, 

The  sacred  theme  they  told. 

The  dwellers  on  the  rock  and  mountain, 

Have  bid  its  chorus  rise : 
Forth-bursting  like  the  bright  pure  fountain, 

That  from  their  bosom  hies. 


68  AMERICA. 

It  has  reach'd  th'  forest's  sunless  glen, 

And  mingled  with  the  blast, 
That  rose  and  told  the  joy,  and  then 

In  deeper  accents  past. 

Nor  Liberty  alone  is  thine : 
'T  were  madness  uncontrolled : 

But  science,  art,  and  truth  divine, 
Thy  sacred  laws  uphold. 

Where  hatred-burning  savage  bands 
Raised  the  red  scalping  knife, 

And  tomahawk,  with  cruel  hands, 
Rush'd  to  the  bitter  strife : 

Where  was  the  Indian  war-whoop  heard, 

The  frenzied  wild  poo-whoo, 
Is  preach'd  the  everlasting  word, 

The  truth  in  Jesus  now. 

For  sybil  songs,  and  demon  spells, 

Mutter'd  in  mystic  tone, 
Whose  meaning  there  one  stands  and  tells, 

Amidst  the  throng  alone — 

Reason,  her  dignity  displays, 
And  Genius  rears  her  throne, 

And  with  an  eagle  glance  surveys 
A  realm  from  zone  to  zone. 


THE    AMERICAN    FLAG.  69 


THE    AMERICAN    FLAG. 


WHERE  Licking's  waters  gently  glide, 
Deep  murmuring  to  Ohio's  tide ; 
And  Arts  with  Nature's  charms  unite 
The  gazer's  vision  to  delight : 
There,  on  Kentucky's  rugged  shore, 
That  looks  the  lovely  landscape  o'er, 
The  flaunting  banner  of  the  brave 
Floats  gaily  'bove  the  glassy  wave, 
As  in  the  sunset's  golden  light, 
It  flings  its  folds  of  crimson  bright. 
Ye  stars  and  stripes !  though  now  ye  play 
So  peaceful  in  the  evening  ray, 
Far  other  thoughts  are  waked  by  thee, 
Proud  banner  of  the  brave  and  free ! 
Flaming  along  the  path  of  war, 
Thou  wert  of  old  the  freeman's  star, 
On  which  he  fixed  his  faithful  eye, 
And  rushed  to  death  or  victory. 
Thou  wert  to  him  a  spirit  form, 
That  hov'ring  hung  o'er  battle's  storm, 
That  fiercely  gleamed  through  fire  and  smoke, 
And  vengeance  in  his  bosom  woke : 
When  trumpet  called,  when  roll'd  the  drum, 
That  bade  the  bold  to  battle  come — 
When  cannons  roar'd,  and  bayonets  glanced, 
And  foe  to  foe  with  haste  advanced—- 
When rank  and  file  in  conflict  clash'd, 
As  to  the  deadly  strife  they  dash'd, 


70  ENGLAND. 

And  the  patriot  fell  in  his  red  path, 

The  victim  of  the  foeman's  wrath ; 

On  thee  he'd  lift  his  languid  eye, 

And  'neath  thy  folds  exulting  die. 

When  first  was  heard  young  Freedom's  call, 

That  bade  him  burst  oppression's  thrall, 

Thine  was  the  spirit-stirring  power, 

That  nerved  him  in  the  trying  hour ; 

Thine  was  the  potent  heaven-born  spell, 

To  which  the  might  of  tyrant's  fell, 

When  victory  perch'd  upon  thy  crest, 

And  Liberty  came  there  to  rest. 

In  triumph  thus  forever  wave, 

Above  the  freeman's  home  and  grave ; 

In  beauty  thus  forever  sweep, 

On  mountain  top,  on  ocean's  deep ; 

In  glory  thus  forever  shine, 

Emblem  of  Freedom !  and  her  shrine. 


ENGLAND. 


THOU  gem  of  ocean !  father-land  ! 
Around  thy  bold  and  rocky  strand 
The  white  waves  dash,  and  fret,  and  foam — 
Can  I  forget  thee,  native  home ! 

Roll  on,  ye  waves !  roll  wild  and  free, 
Around  the  island  of  the  sea ; 


ENGLAND.  71 

Your  curling  crests  bear  men  as  brave, 
As  ever  met  a  briny  grave. 

Balmy  and  fresh  thy  ocean  air, 
Thy  fields  are  fertile,  flowery,  fair ; 
Lovely  and  brave  thy  Saxon  blood  ; 
As  thou  art  great,  would  thou  wert  good. 

Ere  Science  on  thee  shed  its  ray, 
Rome's  eagle  mark'd  thee  for  her  prey ; 
Thy  chief,  though  chain'd,  yet  unsubdued, 
The  pomp  of  Rome  undaunted  view'd. 

Alfred  was  thine,  the  peasant  king, 
Whom  patriots  laud,  and  poets  sing; 
Who  infant  freedom  left  his  age, 
And  pour'd  its  light  on  history's  page. 

And  Spencer,  whose  poetic  fire 
To  rapture  tuned  the  English  lyre ; 
And  Milton,  whose  seraphic  muse 
Time  and  eternity  reviews. 

And  Shakspeare,  of  immortal  fame, — 
Deathless  as  nature  is  his  name ; — 
Accomplish'd  Pope,  reflective  Young, 
And  Cowper  with  his  winning  song. 

Thine  gifted  Byron,  much-loved  White, 
Pollok,  who  wing'd  through  time  his  flight; 
These  are  thy  sons,  and  these  are  names, 
.Mankind  with  thee  in  common  claims  : 


72 


And  these  are  names  that  honor  earth—- 
To man,  to  mind,  of  greater  worth, 
Than  ought  the  belted  warrior  gains 
From  cities  sack'd,  or  battle  plains. 

Thine  philosophic  Bacon  too, 
Who  search'd  material  nature  through ; 
And  Newton,  who  with  wing  of  light 
Track'd  the  swift  comet's  wand'ring  flight. 

When  superstition,  like  a  cloud, 
Cover'd  the  earth,  and  mind  was  bow'd 
Beneath  the  heavy  Papal  yoke, 
Thy  WicklifFe  rose,  and  truth  awoke. 

From  the  dark  cloud  bright  Genius  burst, 
Science  and  truth  by  thee  were  nurst, 
Till  the  wild  wave  that  wash'd  thy  shore, 
Thy  fame  to  every  nation  bore. 

Till  white-wing'd  coursers  of  the  sear 
From  every  climate  rode  to  thee : 
And  proudly  waved  thy  banner  high, 
In  every  port  beneath  the  sky. 

Till  on  thy  wide  extended  sway, 
Unceasing  smiled  the  God  of  day ; 
And  Neptune,  monarch  of  the  sea ! 
His  ancient  trident  gave  to  thee. 

"  I  love  thee  still" — but  hate  the  sir* 
That  works  its  baleful  ill  within, 


73 


That  blights  thy  glory,  blasts  thy  fame, 
And  makes  thy  offspring  blush  for  shame : 

That  to  a  few  gives  place  and  power, 
Makes  penury  the  peasant's  dower ; 
Scorns  him  who  for  his  country  bled — 
Denies  to  toil  the  meed  of  bread. 

May  Albion  hear, — hear  truth's  appeal ; 
Ere  brandish'd  is  the  rebel  steel; 
Within  her  own  green  vafes  may  hide, 
The  spirit  that  shall  curb  her  pride. 

Albion !  proud  Island  of  the  sea ! 
How  many  brave  hearts  beat  in  thee  ; 
But  those  brave  hearts  may  braver  be, 
When  warm'd  with  love  of  Liberty. 


IRELAND. 


THERE  is  an  Isle  on  Ocean's  breast, 
Round  which  the  raging  billows  leap, 
That  rears  aloft  its  emerald  crest, 
And  smiles  upon  the  ambient  deep. 

That  Island  is  the  loveliest  gem, 
On  ocean's  broad  blue  bosom  seen, 
There  nature  weaves  her  diadem 
Of  her  loved  shamrock's  living  green. 


74  IRELAND. 

But  what  are  nature's  smiles  to  thee, 
On  ocean,  hill,  or  verdant  vale  ? 
Son  of  the  green  Isle  of  the  sea ! 
Say,  what  do  all  her  charms  avail  ? 

So  long  as  by  oppression  bound, 
Thou  sittest  in  the  sordid  dust, 
And  thy  warm  tears  bedew  the  ground, 
Clothing  thy  servile  chains  with  rust. 

Wake !  Erin !  wake  thine  harp  once  more, 
Though  riven  now,  and  all  unstrung — 
That  harp  that  through  thy  halls  of  yore, 
With  youthful  freedom's  music  rung 

That  harp,  whose  deeply  plaintive  tone, 
With  every  ruth  and  wrong  was  filled, 
As  by  the  wand'ring  breezes  blown, 
Upon  the  patriot  heart's  it  thrilled. 

But  list!  the  plain  is  past,  the  idle  sigh 
No  more  floats  on  the  ocean's  breath, 
A  loftier  note,  a  nobler  cry 
Is  heard,  'tis  liberty  or  death. 

Erin  has  risen  in  her  might, 

Her  brave  hand  grasps  the  brandish'd  steel, 

And  in  her  eye  is  freedom's  light, 

And  on  her  tongue  the  cry,  Repeal. 

Onward !    may  heaven  speed  thee  now* 
The  soul-degrading  chain  to  sever, 
If  Truth  and  Freedom  bid  the  blow, 
Strike !    they  may  be  thine  for  ever. 


INFIDELITY, 


A  TALE   OF    THE    REVOLUTION. 


HENRY  MACFLENE,  the  hero  of  this  history,  was 
born  in  one  of  the  eastern  States,  in  the  year  1758. 
His  father,  while  young,  had  emigrated  from  Scot- 
land ;  and  being  possessed  of  a  small  fortune,  em- 
barked in  business,  and  by  industry  and  economy 
acquired  considerable  wealth.  In  his  character, 
kindness  and  generosity  were  mingled  with  the 
frugality  of  the  Scotch,  and  consequently,  while 
cautiousness  marked  all  his  undertakings,  he  was 
regarded  as  a  man  of  enlightened  liberality,  and  of 
public  spirit.  In  1756,  he  married  a  Canadian  lady, 
of  French  extraction ;  one  daughter,  and  the  subject 
of  this  sketch,  were  the  fruits  of  their  union. 

Mr.  Macflene  had  naturally  a  strong  constitution, 
and  a  vigorous  meditative  mind  :  there  was  a  se- 
dateness  upon  his  brow,  and  a  gravity  of  thought 
over  his  countenance,  yet  he  had  a  soul  alive  to  the 
keenest  sensibilities  of  our  nature.  Happy  in  his 
partner,  and  their  pleasing  offspring,  the  cup  of  his 
domestic  felicity  seemed  full.  Home  was  the  circle 


76  INFIDELITY. 

where  he  loved  to  move,  and  his  fireside  was  the 
scene  of  order,  instruction,  and  love. 

Mrs.  Macflene  was  a  woman  far  more  retired  and 
domestic  in  her  habits,  than  is  usual  in  females  of 
her  descent ;  she  was  lovely  in  her  person,  and  of 
the  kindest  disposition,  and  her  affection  for  her 
husband  and  children  appeared  unbounded  ;  but  the 
ardent  intellect  and  the  intense  solicitude  of  the 
father  had  induced  him  to  supercede  her  in  promo- 
ting the  education  of  their  children :  their  improve- 
ment and  happiness  seemed  to  be  the  end  of  his 
existence,  and  the  centre  of  his  earthly  hopes :  often 
might  his  firm-set  eye  have  been  seen  to  relax  with 
delight,  or  to  glitter  with  a  tear,  as  he  gazed  upon 
their  guileless  gambols ;  he  would  even  become  a 
partner  in  their  sports,  and  spend  his  intervals  of 
leisure  in  the  construction  of  their  play-things.  As 
they  grew  up,  their  moral  and  intellectual  advance- 
ment gave  a  tone  and  direction  to  his  conversation  : 
books  of  simple  illustration  were  put  into  their 
hands,  and  the  beauties  of  nature  pointed  out  to 
their  admiring  view.  He  would  wander  with  them 
upon  the  sun-lit  hill,  when  Spring  was  spreading 
abroad  her  green  carpet,  and  gemming  with  bud  and 
blossom  the  long  desolate  branch,  while  Nature's 
choristers  were  welcoming  with  new  notes  of  joy 
her  reviving  beam,  that  was  glittering  in  the  glassy 
lake,  or  laughing  in  the  rapid  rill.  The  lovely,  and 
the  terrible ;  the  whispering  breeze,  and  the  burst- 
ing thunder;  the  wood-crowned  height,  and  the 
flower-gemmed  vale;  the  glorious  sky,  and  the 
changeful  earth;  all  furnished  ample  sources  for 


INFIDELITY.  77 

reflection  and  remark,  calculated  "  to  rear  the  tender 
thought,"  and  lead  the  mind  "  from  Nature,  up  to 
nature's  God." 

So  rolled  away  the  sunny  days  of  youth,  until 
Henry  was  thirteen,  and  his  sister  eleven  years  old, 
when  they  were  sent  by  their  reluctant  parents  to 
a  select  hoarding  school. 

Delia,  the  daughter,  was  a  fascinating  little  crea- 
ture, with  dark  glossy  curls  that  hung  in  rich  profu- 
sion around  her  snowy  neck ;  her  features  were 
remarkably  expressive,  and  her  eye  shone  with 
unwonted  vivacity;  but  her  form  was  feeble,  and 
her  health  delicate;  while  her  mind  was  sympathetic 
and  susceptible  in  the  extreme.  Henry,  too,  was  a 
lovely  youth,  with  a  countenance  frank  and  un- 
shaded ;  possessing  a  mind  ardent  and  inquisitive, 
he  early  manifested  a  disposition  for  the  pursuits  of 
learning. 

The  admonitions  of  the  parents  had  made  an  evi- 
dent impression  upon  the  minds  of  their  children. 
They  had  early  been  taught  to  remember  their  Crea- 
tor. They  had  been  told  of  His  love,  who  died  that 
all  might  live ;  and  as  morning  and  evening  came, 
had  they  bowed  in  lisping  prayer  at  a  mother's  knee; 
consequently,  their  dispositions  were  such  as  to  de- 
light their  doting  parents,  and  to  make  them  favor- 
ites abroad. 

Their  school  was  situated  amidst  the  richly  diver- 
sified and  highly  romantic  scenery  that  adorns  the 
banks  of  the  Connecticut  river,  where  three  years 
glided  away,  fraught  with  all  the  unsuspecting  joy- 
fulness  of  youth.  About  this  time  Delia's  health 


78  INFIDELITY. 

began  to  decline.  She  had  grown  fast,  and  like  the 
premature  blossoms  of  Spring,  was  about  to  wither ; 
her  constitution  was  sensibly  failing,  she  therefore 
bade  farewell  to  her  much-loved  governess  and  com- 
panions, and,  casting  a  "  long,  last,  lingering  look" 
on  scenes  endeared  by  the  fond  recollections  of  child- 
hood, returned  to  the  parental  roof. 

Henry  left  not  her  side,  but  with  a  look  of  the 
tenderest  regard  did  he  watch  her  wan  and  delicate 
features :  an  insiduous  disease  was  too  visibly  wind- 
ing itself  about  her  vitals,  ere  long  to  crush  its 
victim  in  its  fatal  folds.  She  lingered  long ;  but  as 
life's  fountain  ebbed,  her  spirit  seemed  to  brighten. 
To  her  friends  she  was  linked  by  the  love  of  a  pure 
and  grateful  heart,  which  nothing  but  death  could 
sunder.  She  had  gazed  upon  nature's  loveliness, 
and  memory  now  cheered  her  chamber  with  the  re- 
collection of  the  happy  hours  when  she  gamboled 
on  the  grassy  sward,  or  frolic'd  in  the  flowery  vale, 
and  in  the  fulness  of  her  joy  twined  in  her  glossy 
curls  the.  fragrant  images  of  her  own  fair  but  frail 
beauty.  She  repined  not.  Resignation  rested  upon 
her  beautiful  features,  which  often  even  brightened 
into  mirth.  She  had  not  yet  known  the  bitterness 
of  life's  cup ;  her  brow  was  unclouded  by  care,  and 
her  eye  unshadowed  by  suspicion;  her  cheek  was 
unblanched  by  guilty  fear,  and  the  freshness  of  her 
lip  untainted  by  the  breath  of  unhallowed  passion. 
She  had  played  about  the  fountain  of  life,  and  drank 
of  its  unpolluted  rills  :  she  had  plucked  its  sweetest 
flowers,  and  rejoiced  in  the  morning  of  her  exist- 
ence; 'while,  as  she  looked  along  its  opening  vista, 


INFIDELITY.  79 

Fancy  had  filled  it  with  a  thousand  visions  of  beauty 
and  of  bliss,  and  Hope  had  thrown  her  deceitful  bow 
upon  the  distant  cloud. 

Henry  was  unwearied  in  his  attentions  to  his 
declining  sister,  catching  her  softest  whispers,  and 
meeting  her  half-uttered  wishes.  For  her  he  had 
gleaned  earth's  loveliest  flowers,  and  culled  its  finest 
fruit.  For  her  he  had  robbed  the  hawthorn  of  its 
earliest  bloom,  and  brought  the  prettiest  pebble  from 
the  purling  brook.  For  her  he  had  scaled  the 
dangerous  summit,  and  snatched  from  its  topmost 
cliff  the  flowery  gem.  To  her  he  had  been  lover, 
friend,  and  brother;  and  now,  when  sickness  had 
shed  its  melancholy  light  upon  her,  when  her  feeble 
frame  shrank  at  the  rude  touch  of  disease,  and  the 
beauties  of  nature  seemed  forever  hid  from  her  eyes, 
like  some  guardian  angel  would  he  tend  her  couch, 
and  watch  her  pale  and  placid  countenance. 

What  a  flatterer  is  Consumption !  how  delusive 
the  hope  with  which  it  tantalizes  its  victim  !  Delia 
was  sitting  on  the  sofa,  and  Henry  by  her  side ; 
the  sun  was  setting  in  the  gorgeous  west,  and  pour- 
ing its  golden  beams  around  them ;  when  she  re- 
marked, 

Brother,  I  think  I  am  better  :  who  can  tell  but  I 
may  again  be  able  to  tend  my  pretty  flowers,  and 
stroll  with  you  our  favorite  rambles.  I  never  thuik 
of  these,  and  of  our  agreeable  companions,  but  with 
delight.  You  remember  those  sweet  lines  Clarie 
wrote,  on  leaving  us  ? 

Yes,  Sister,  I  do,  and  the  pretty  tune  to  which  you 
adapted  them. 


80  INFIDELITY. 

It  was  a  pretty  tune.  I  must  try  it  over  once 
more.  Henry,  help  me  to  the  piano. 

Her  voice,  though  feeble,  was  full  of  music ;  and 
in  soft  and  silvery  tones  she  sung : 

No  more  with  you  I'll  ramble, 

Upon  the  sun-lit  hill ; 
No  more  with  you  I'll  gambol, 

Beside  the  crystal  rill ; 
Nor  seek  with  you  the  flowers, 

That  gem  the  grassy  dale ; 
Nor  meet  in  fragrant  bowers, 

At  eve,  to  tell  the  tale ; 
Nor  chase  with  limbs  of  lightness, 

The  short-lived  gaudy  fly, 
That  flutters  through  the  brightness, 

Of  Summer's  glorious  sky  : 
Nor  weave  the  sweet  wild  flowers, 

Beneath  the  spreading  tree, 
Of  beauty,  frail  like  ours, 

A  garland  meant  to  be. 
To  scenes  of  youthful  gladness, 

Where  bliss  and  beauty  dwell, 
With  heart  of  throbbing  sadness, 

I  breathe  a  long  farewell. 
Farewell  ye  fields  and  flowers, 

And  ye  companions  dear, 
That  blest  life's  earliest  hours ; 
k,-    On  varying  paths  we  steer. 

Henry,  ere  she  had  finished,  was  deeply  affected, 
and  reclined  his  head  upon  the  back  of  the  chair,  to 


INFIDELITY.  81 

conceal  the  profusion  of  tears  that  trickled  down  his 
cheeks. 

Henry ! — said  she,  with  much  emotion — weep  not. 
Remember  the  enjoyments  we  have  had,  and   still 
possess;  enjoyments,  perhaps,  'too  exquisite  to  last;'  * 
but  cheer  up,  and  sing  for  me  those  lines  you  were 
practising  upon  the  piano  the  other  day. 

He  sung  as  follows : 

The  wood,  and  the    stream,    and    the    wild    forest 
flowers, 

The  canopied  azure  above, 
The  babbling  brook,  and  the  bright  sunny  hours, 

Have  a  charm  and  a  beauty  I  love. 

On  the  mountain's  bare  brow,  in  the  shadowy  glade, 

Our  joys  were  all  sportive  and  free, 
While  light  forms  of  gladness  around  me  that  play'd, 
&      Waked  a  warmth  of  attachment  in  me. 

And  still  on  my  heart  each  fair  image  lives, 

And  still  each  bright  vision  I  see, 
But  still,  O  my  sister !  my  spirit  it  gives, 

Its  fondest  affection  to  thee. 

Notwithstanding  she  thus  occasionally  revived, 
and  her  fresh  animated  spirit  threw  a  transient  lustre 
o'er  its  tottering  tenement,  she  gradually  sunk,  low- 
ered and  weakened  by  each  rallying  effort  of  nature, 
brightening  but  for  a  moment,  like  the  last  flicker  of 
a  taper,  the  sooner  to  expire.  Her  hold  on  earth 
was  loosening,  and  fastening  upon  the  glorious  fu- 
ture. Her  resignation  was  complete,  and  her  hope 


82  INFIDELITY. 

joyful.  She  died — and  her  ransomed  spirit  spread 
its  pinions  for  immortality  and  eternal  life.  Like  a 
rare  flower,  too  fair,  too  frail  for  earth,  she  was 
transplanted  to  bloom  forever  in  the  paradise  above. 

The  loss  of  Delia  was  severely  felt.  Her  parents 
were  inconsolable,  and  'refused  to  be  comforted,' 
while  in  Henry  it  wrought  a  deep  and  a  visible 
change.  The  beauties  of  nature  no  longer  captiva- 
ted. The  presence  that  gave  to  them  their  charms, 
had  departed,  and  melancholy  brooded  over  his  spirit, 
and  debilitated  his  body.  The  anguish  and  distress 
of  the  son,  added  to  and  aggravated  that  of  the  pa- 
rents; they  therefore  sent  him  to  college,  hoping 
thereby  to  dispel  his  gloom ;  intending  his  studies  as 
preparatory  to  the  ministry ;  but  his  inclinations  af- 
terwards led  him  to  the  study  of  law. 

The  newness  of  the  scene,  the  routine  of  college 
exercises,  its  intervals  filled  by  the  gay  society  of 
his  comrades,  the  prospects  which  literary  ambition 
opened  before  him,  all  tended  to  dissipate  his  despon- 
dency, to  arouse  his  energies,  and  to  call  forth  again 
his  natural  ardor  and  vivacity.  He  was  an  indefati- 
gable student,  and  an  agreeable  companion,  uniting 
activity  and  keenness  of  intellect  with  an  urbane 
disposition,  and  a  genteel  deportment.  Elegant  in 
the  proportions  of  his  frame,  the  contour  of  his  per- 
son was  one  of  remarkable  symmetry  and  grace. 
His  eye  was  lustrous  and  dark;  his  hair  jet  and 
wavy,  and  the  general  expression  of  his  features 
frank,  but  marked  with  contemplation  and  high-toned 
independence. 


INFIDELITY.  83 

Now  broke  the  morning  of  the  Revolution.  Lib- 
erty! Liberty!  was  resounded  through  the  land — 
re-echoed  from  the  hill-top,  and  re-verbrated  from 
the  vale.  The  call  of  the  hollow  drum  was  heard, 
and  the  trumpet's  brazen  voice.  The  husband  ex- 
changed the  prattle  of  his  children,  and  the  embra- 
ces of  his  wife,  for  the  din  of  battle-strife,  and  to 
clasp,  perchance  in  death,  the  blood-stained  earth. 
The  lover  tore  himself  from  the  new-pledged  maid ; 
and  brothers  left  the  parental  roof,  loaded  with  kisses, 
caresses,  and  blessings  on  their  cause.  The  son  of 
the  forest  threw  over  his  shoulder  the  murderous 
rifle,  and  congregated  with  the  man  of  profession, 
the  merchant,  and  the  mechanic.  Then  the  starried 
banner  fluttered  in  the  breeze ;  then  was  heard  the 
martial  music,  and  the  heavy  tramp ;  the  roaring  of 
artillery,  and  the  clash  of  arms,  with  the  flash,  the 
smoke,  and  the  shout  of  battle.  The  fire  of  freedom 
was  in  each  breast,  and  young  and  old  abandoned 
their  firesides  to  defend  their  homes,  and  to  assert 
their  rights.  Among  them  was  Henry  and  his  fath- 
er ;  the  latter  fell  at  Bunkers  Hill ;  his  body  was 
found  covered  with  the  slain,  and  his  last  words  were 
said  to  be,  '  God  save  my  country !' 

Henry  continued  some  time  in  the  service,  and 
joined  a  detachment  under  Marquis  Lafayette.  He 
was  promoted  as  Colonel,  and  distinguished  himself 
by  his  bravery,  intelligence  and  pleasing  demeanor. 
He  associated  much  with  his  fellow  officers,  many 
of  whom  were  French.  He  mingled  in  their  amuse- 
ments, and  was  counted  as  the  companion  of  their 
j  oiliest  hours,  for  the  sweetness  of  his  manners,  and 


84  IWKIDZLITY. 

the  playfulness  of  his  repartee ;  though  he  partook 
but  sparingly  of  their  excesses;  while  he  caught 
their  manners,  he  unfortunately  imbibed  their  infidel 
principles,  though  not  till  after  repeated  sallies  of 
wit,  argument,  and  ridicule,  did  he  surrender. 

There  are  minds  that,  once 'having  formed  an  opin- 
ion, tenaciously  retain  it,  and,  either  from  an  inac- 
tivity of  intellect,  or  a  selfish  love  of  sentiment 
which  they  have  identified  with  themselves,  ward 
off  eveiy  attempt  to  shake  the  fortress  of  their  belief, 
or  disturb  their  indolent  tranquility.  There  are  oth- 
ers, noble  and  ingenuous,  whose  minds  are  accessible 
to  truth,  who  throw  off  the  fetters  of  early  prejudice, 
who  disdain  the  trammels  of  sectarianism,  and  un- 
folding before  themselves  the  pages  of  knowledge, 
seek  to  form  their  views  on  the  broad  basis  of  uni- 
versal Truth ;  but  who,  alas !  by  their  love  of  free 
inquiry,  are  often  led  into  the  mazes  of  error  and  of 
doubt.  Such  was  young  Macflene.  lie  had  seen 
the  happifying  influence  of  religion  on  the  feelings 
and  character  cf  his  parents,  and  from  a  filial  fond- 
ness had,  in  a  great  measure,  drank  into  their  views, 
and  participated  of  their  principles.  But  these,  his 
first  ideas,  were  the  product  of  parental  influence, 
and  not  formed  from  personal  observation,  investiga- 
tion, and  reflection ;  therefore,  when  he  went  forth 
into  the  world,  and  beheld  the  varying  phases  of  so- 
ciety, its  infinity  of  sentiment,  and  the  opposites  of- 
ten espoused  by  minds  of  the  first  order,  of  acknow- 
ledged integrity,  and  of  intellectual  worth — when 
he  viewed  infidelity,  veiled  with  all  the  attractions 
of  yjauth,  politenss,  and  education ;  it  was  no  wonder 


INFIDELITY.  85 

that  the  feeble  fabric,  thus  unfort'fied,  fell,  and  that 
his  youthful  impressions  melted  like  the  snow-wreath 
in  the  sunbeams.  But  though  in  ruins,  ths  relics  of 
that  fabric  were  there ;  and  though  those  feelings, 
like  the  snow-wreath,  had  vanished,  they  had  soften- 
ed and  enriched  the  soil,  and  still  their  influence  was 
felt. 

He  now  stumbled  at  the  mysteries  of  Revelation, 
and  was  unwilling  to  believe  that  which  he  could  not 
comprehend.  He  sought  to  understand  that  which 
the  mind  of  man  was  never  formed  to  grasp.  He 
vainly  grappled  with  Infinity,  and  attempted,  on 
reason's  pinions,  to  scale  the  Throne  of  God,  and 
with  its  scanty  plummet,  to  sound  the  deeps  of  Rev- 
elation and  of  Providence.  But  ah!  its  depths 
mocked  the  reach  of  reason,  and  her  waxen  wings 
melted  beneath  the  brightness  of  the  Eternal:  be- 
dizzed  and  confounded,  he  fell,  and  reason  seemed 
to  reel.  For  awhile  the  hour  of  conviviality  lost  to 
him  its  relish  and  delight;  and  though  he  occasion- 
ally mingled  in  the  festive  scene,  and  parried  the 
passing  joke,  conscience  still  lingered  at  his  heart, 
and  pictured  upon  the  walls  of  his  festivity  the  hand 
that  wrote  his  doom.  'That  dread  of  something  af- 
ter death,'  still  haunted  his  imagination,  which  he 
would  still  strive  to  allay,  as  the  phantom  of  fanati- 
cism and  of  early  education.  .  He  revolted  against 
his  Maker.  He  had  put  his  foot  from  off  the  haven- 
bound  vessel  of  Eternal  Truth,  and  in  his  own  little 
bark,  had  ventured  forth  upon  the  broad  and  boister- 
ous ocean  of  uncertainty.  His  polar  star,  obscured 
by  the  clouds  of  skepticism — yea,  hidden  in  the  night 


86  INFIDELITY. 

of  Infidelity.  His  charter  of  Eternal  Truth  thus  dis- 
carded, he  was  now  a  creature  of  chance,  and  his 
bright  intellectual  faculties  believed  to  cease  with  his 
mortal  existence. 

His  companions  saw  their  triumph,  and  left  noth- 
ing wanting  to  complete  it.  Closer,  though  almost 
imperceptibly,  they  drew  around  him  the  meshes  of 
his  captivity,  and  by  their  fascinations  beguiled  him 
farther  and  farther  into  the  vortex  of  dissipation. 

As  a  soldier,  many  were  the  changes  and  chances 
to  which  he  was  exposed ;  but  we  shall  not  here  at- 
tempt to  follow  him  to  the  encampment,  the  parade, 
and  the  scene  of  action.  The  detachment  had  been 
stationed  for  a  short  time  in  the  village  of  Fairfax, 
and  were  preparing  to  march  to  meet  Gen.  Washing- 
ton, when  Henry  received  a  letter  from  his  mother, 
informing  him  she  was  sick,  and  anxiously  pressing 
his  return  home.  She  was  now  a  widow,  and  some 
affairs  belonging  to  her  late  husband  remained  unset- 
tled. He  was,  hov/ever,  reluctant  to  comply;  the 
wreath  of  victory  invited  him  forward,  and  the  laurels 
of  his  country's  independence  were  yet  ungathered ; 
he  therefore  referred  the  matter  to  the  Marquis,  who, 
while  he  applauded  his  patriotic  devotion  to  their 
cause,  and  regretted  the  loss  they  would  sustain, 
generously  advised  his  return.  With  heartfelt  sor- 
row he  exchanged  the  firm  grasp  with  his  gallant 
comrades,  and  saw,  with  mingled  feelings  of  regret 
and  admiration,  the  bright  cavalcade  move  glittering 
along,  with  their  noble  commander  in  the  front,  and 
the  rustic  though  no  less  effective  provincials  in 
their  rear,  who  were  seen  sallying  forth  with  the 


INFIDELITY.  87 

spirits  of  freemen,  and  with  sinewy  forms,  from  their 
native  villages,  the  fields  that  their  childhood  knew, 
and  their  own  bright  hearths,  to  meet  the  foe.  There, 
then,  were  the  matron's  last  words  of  advice,  the 
last  looks  of  hright-eyed  girls ;  children  with  lisping 
lips  and  sunny  faces,  hanging  round  the  athletic 
limbs  of  their  fathers ;  old  men,  with  tottering  limb 
and  broken  voice,  encouraging  their  sons  to  deeds  of 
daring,  while  the  glow  of  freedom  quickened  their 
lagging  blood,  and  lit  afresh  their  time-worn  features. 
But  they  are  gone :  and  the  gazing  crowd  slowly  re- 
tires ;  while  here  and  there  are  seen  knots  of  grey- 
headed politicians,  groups  of  pensive  and  musing 
maidens,  and  of  prayerful  and  anxious  wives  and 
mothers. 

Not  unknown,  nor  unobserved,  was  the  young 
Colonel,  as  he  passed  among  them.  His  manly 
bearing  and  fine  form,  set  off  by  military  costume, 
must  have  caught  their  attention,  had  he  not  been  al- 
ready known  and  admired. 

The  detachment  having  been  quartered  for  some 
time  in  the  village,  Henry  had  contracted  an  acquain- 
tance with  some  of  its  honest  and  open-hearted  in- 
habitants, that  perhaps  amounted  to  something  more 
than  friendship ;  and  various  were  the  greetings 
which  he  met,  as  he  walked  down  to  his  quarters. 

There  was  a  neat-looking  white  frame  on  the  road- 
side, with  green  window  blinds,  and  a  pretty  roman- 
tic porch,  over  which  rambled  the  vagrant  tendrils  of 
a  vine,  mingling  with  roses  that  hung  around  in  rich 
profusion.  Henry  had  become  acquainted  with  its 
inmates,  and  was  accustomed,  not  unfrequently,  to 


88  INFIDELITY. 

call  and  taste  the  unsophisticated  sweets  of  rural  so- 
ciety. The  old  people,  though  English  by  birth, 
were  staunch  republicans  in  principle.  With  hia 
four  sons,  Mr.  Barton — for  such  was  his  name — was 
gone  to  contend  for  his  country.  At  the  garden  gate 
still  stood  the  mother  and  her  two  daughters,  a 
neighbor's  girl,  and  an  old  uneducated  domestic  who 
had  emigrated  with  the  family  to  this  country.  As 
he  approached,  a  smile  arose  on  each  countenance, 
while  the  fair  cheek  of  one  might  have  been  observed 
to  receive  an  additional  tinge. 

Good  morning  Colonel !  said  the  mother. 

Good  morning,  Madam  !  Good  morning,  ladies ! 
was  the  reply. 

I  hear,  Colonel,  that  you  remain.  How  is  that? 
for  I  am  sure  they  need  such  as  you. 

Yes,  madam,  fate  has  this  time  compelled  me  to 
turn,  my  back  on  my  enemies,  and  robbed  me  of  the 
conqueror's  wreath.  I  must  return  to  console  a  sick 
and  a  widowed  mother. 

Ah,  well-o-day !  a  pity  o'  that ;  but,  as  they  say, 
'  the  braver  the  man  the  warmer  the  heart.'  May 
God  bless  them  and  their  noble  Commander. 

Yes,  madam,  my  heart  is  with  them. 

Young  gentleman  —  muttered  old  Robin,  the  do- 
mestic—  I  think  your  heart  is  nearer  hum.  I  guess 
youn  a  ankerin  after  some  gal,  or  you'd  be  wi'  um 
yoursel. 

Robin,  you  speak  before  your  turn.  Though, 
Colonel,  there  may  be  something  in  it? — said  the  old 
lady. 

Madam ! — said  he,  casting  a  furtive  glance  at  the 


INFIDELITY.  8$ 

lovely  listeners — if  such  was  my  aim,  I  might  well 
wish  to  remain  here. 

Miss  Ellen,  to  whom  his  eye  had  heen  more  par- 
ticularly directed,  blushed  and  smilled,  as,  with  her 
companions,  she  curtesied  to  the  compliment. 

You  have  lovely  flowers, —  said  he  ajchly,  pluck- 
ing three  roses  and  politely  handing  them  .to  the 
girls,  whose  whispers  and  inuendoes  soon  indicated 
that  Ellen  had  received  the  linesf. 

But  they  are  not  without  their  thorns — replied  the 
mother,  whose  keen  eye  quickly  noticed  his  pleasan- 
try, and  its  effects. 

They  are  sweet,  if  they  have  thorns — returned  the 
Colonel,  as  he  gathered  one  for  himself,  howed,  and 
retired,  amidst  the  smiles  and  invitations  of  the 
agreeable  group. 

Henry,  now  arranged  for  his  departure,  paid  his 
last  visit  to  his  country  friends,  not  forgetting  Mrs. 
Barton  and  her  fair  Ellen.  But  filial  affection  urged 
him  away.  He  departed  — determined  to  pursue  the 
study  of  his  profession,  and  to  devote  himself  to- 
the  comfort  and  the  happiness  of  his  remaining  pa- 
rent. He  arrived.  How  all  was  changed !  The 
companions  of  his  youth  were  dispersed:  the  scenes 
of  his  boyhood  had  vanished :  the  '  march  of  intel- 
lect' had  been  there  ;  and  improvements  had  arisen 
rapidly  around.  He  found  his  mother  but  a  relic  of 
what  she  once  was:  sorrow  had  wasted  her;  and 
the  ravages  of  age  and  sickness  were  upon  her ;  but 
his  presence  cheered  and  revived  her ;  and  under  his 
affectionate  attentions  her  health  was  partially  re- 
stored'. 


90  INFIDELITY. 

The  mother's  soul  was  now  bound  up  in  her  son : 
he  was  her  all.  With  what  doting  delight  would 
her  eye  wander  over  his  manly  form,  improved  and 
matured  as  it  was  by  years,  and  his  face  beaming 
with  all  the  expressions  of  intellect  and  honor;  little 
dreaming,  as  yet,  that  the  seeds  of  religious  principle 
which  she  had  assisted  in  planting,  had  but  put  forth 
and  blossomed,  to  be  blasted  by  infidelity,  and  al- 
most forgotten  amid  the  blandishments  of  society. 
Though  not  entirely  confirmed  in  his  infidel  princi- 
ples, conscience  was  stifled,  and  he  seemed  to  have 
sunk  into  a  state  of  apathy  and  indifference ;  but  her 
conversation  aroused  him,  and  ere  long  she  discover- 
ed the  drift  of  his  mind,  and  the  vast  change  which 
his  feelings  had  undergone.  Often  would  she  reason 
with  him,  and  endeavor  to  reclaim  him;  but  his 
superior  intellect  and  information  baffled  every  at- 
tempt, and  ultimately  she  surrendered  her  own  views 
to  the  sympathy  of  maternal  affection,  and  to  the 
power  of  his  eloquence.  He  gathered  around  them 
all  the  charms  of  genteel  life,  and  strove  to  promote 
her  comfort  and  her  happiness.  He  successfully 
prosecuted  his  profession,  living  chiefly  in  town, 
though  his  mother  resided  in  a  house  built  by  his 
father,  but  a  few  miles  distant,  where  he  often  re- 
paired for  study  or  for  relaxation  ;  and  sought  relief 
in  its  calmness  and  seclusion,  when  jaded  with  the 
jostling  world,  or  with  the  conflicts  of  his  own  spirit; 
for,  though  the  surface  seemed  smooth,  beneath  the 
violence  of  the  tempest  was  yet  unstilled. 

The  midnight  hour  was  past,  and  the  expiring 
lamp  threw  its  faint  glimmer  upon  the  ranged  book- 


INFIDELITY.  91 

shelves  and  on  the  thought-paled  features  of  the  stu- 
dent, admonishing  him  that  its  oil  was  nearly  spent. 
Absorbed  in  thought,  he  threw  himself  back  in  his 
chair :  before  him  lay  the  Holy  Scriptures  and  vari- 
ous infidel  productions,  indicating  that  the  theme  of 
his  research  and  intense  investigation  had  been,  the 
existence  of  a  Deity — the  origin,  nature  and  relations 
of  man.  A  painful  expression  passed  over  his  fea- 
tures as  he  rose  from  his  seat  and  walked  forth  upon 
the  balcony.  The  moon,  in  her  effulgence,  was 
walking  amid  the  bright  watchers  of  heaven,  and 
smiling  upon  her  sister  earth,  now  reposing  in  love- 
liness and  peace ;  while  the  scarcely  stirring  zephyr 
swept,  with  its  light  pinion,  his  feverish  brow.  All 
was  still,  save  his  own  soft  foot-fall,  and  the  cease- 
less murmur  of  the  distant  stream.  He  stood  and 
looked  upon  the  lovely  scene,  that  by  its  beauty 
seemed  to  invite  him  to  the  contemplation  of  nature, 
and  of  nature's  God.  His  mind  strove  to  unfetter 
itself  from  the  theories  and  sophistries  with  which 
it  was  entangled  :  and  while,  as  with  the  wonder  of 
a  first  sight,  he  viewed  with  admiration  the  far-lit 
prospect,  its  etherial  calmness  soothed  his  soul  into 
tranquility;  and  as  he  gazed  upon  the  mysterious 
beauty  of  the  luminaries  of  heaven,  and  thought  upon 
their  order,  the  regularity  of  their  movements  unin- 
terrupted by  terrestrial  influences,  imagination  soared 
beyond  peopling  immensity  with  mind.  For  a  mo- 
ment the  whispers  of  infidelity  were  hushed,  the 
vagaries  of  chance,  and  the  hypothesis  of  an  eternal 
succession,  vanished;  and  Reason  essayed  to  rest 
upon  the  credence  of  an  Allwise,  Almighty,  Creating 


92  INFIDELITY. 

Power.  The  fire  of  devotion  was  kindling  upon  the 
altar  of  his  heart,  and  his  proud  spirit  bowed  with 
reverence  and  awe.  But  the  clouds  gathered  fast 
over  that  starried  canopy,  and  the  glittering  scene 
was  soon  clothed  with  obscurity  and  darkness.  He 
retired  to  his  chamber,  confused  and  dejected.  Life, 
too,  thought  he,  is  but  a  continual  struggle  betwixt 
light  and  shade.  How  few,  and  how  short,  its  inter- 
vals of  peace !  How  many  are  the  bright  visions  that 
hope  has  called  forth,  thus  quickly  to  be  blasted ! 
And  Truth !  'tis  dim  and  uncertain  as  the  moonlight 
landscape.  Oh !  could  I  credit  the  Christian's  creed, 
how  would  I  covet  his  unflattering  faith.  Then 
might  I  look  to  Him  as  my  polar  star;  and  through 
the  gloom  of  Time  look  forward  to  an  eternal  clay  'r 
then,  with  the  poet,  might  I  pity  those 

"Whose  hope  still  lingers  in  this  dark  sojourn, 
While  lofty  souls  who  look  beyond  the  tomb, 
Can  smile  at  fate,  and  wonder  why  they  mourn." 

But  ah !  it  cannot  be.  The  clouds  of  skepticism 
are  over  me,  and  the  labyrinth  of  infidelity  is  around 
me.  Wearied  and  exhausted  with  application,  he 
threw  himself  upon  his  bed,  and  sunk  into  a  restless 
slumber. 

The  sun  had  made  some  hours  travel  up  its  blue 
broad  pathway,  ere  he  awoke  in  moody  and  musing 
frame.  His  mind  still  vacillated;  but  he  seemed  de- 
termined to  defend  the  system  he  had  unfortunately 
espoused.  His  mother,  kind  and  passive,  coincided 
in  all  things  with  the  idol  of  her  heart,  and  was 


INFIDELITY.  93 

anxious  to  encourage  him  in  the  prospects  of  future 
eminence,  which  she  believed  his  talents  were  open- 
ing up  before  him.  But  ere  long  she  sickened ;  and 
he  endeavored  to  sustain  and  sooth  her  by  his  false 
philosophy ;  but  a  fatal  fever  was  at  her  vitals,  that, 
like  a  fury,  drank  at  the  fountain  of  her  life,  and 
revelled  amid  the  ruins  it  so  rapidly  had  wrought. 
Her  lucid  intervals  were  few ;  while  words  of  thril- 
ling import,  shrieks,  and  agonizing  gestures,  told  the 
anguish  of  her  soul ;  and  thus  she  died.  Her  last 
moments  were  rational,  but  unhappy;  and  her  last 
words  were,  Henry !  Henry  !  Henry  ! — He  stood  as 
transfixed,  gazing  on  that  dying  hour ;  his  eye  quailed 
not,  but  the  violence  of  mental  agony  quivered  upon 
his  lips,  and  his  nerves  occasionally  shook  with  a 
quick  involuntary  shudder.  He  saw  the  light  fade 
from  her  glazing  eye ;  he  beheld  the  last  convulsive 
throb  of  departing  life ;  and  the  stupor  of  insensibil- 
ity came  over  him ;  nor  waked  he  from  that  dream, 
until  the  grave  had  received  the  remains  of  her  he 
held  dearest  upon  earth. 

Now  was  his  proud  spirit  humbled  and  subdued, 
and  he  fell  in  deep  contrition  before  Him  he  had  dared 
to  contemn.  Now  he  saw  the  weakness  of  reason, 
the  fallacy  of  Infidelity,  and  its  fearful  impotency  in 
the  hour  of  death ;  and  while  the  expiring  accents  of 
his  mother  rung  in  his  ear,  and  wrought  his  soul  to 
wretchedness,  in  true  penitence  and  prayer  he  bowed 
before  his  God,  and  found  forgiveness.  He  believed, 
embraced,  and  realized  the  blessings  of  Christianity. 

He  remembered  Ellen  Barton,  sought  and  married 
her,  and  lived  a  long  and  useful  life. 


[NOTE. — Some  of  the  foregoing  pieces  were  written 
in  more  youthful  days,  and  but  few  of  them  with  a  de- 
sign to  publication — such  portions  of  the  work  are 
more  adapted  to  youth,  but  it  is  hoped  they  will  not  be 
uninteresting  to  the  general  reader.] 


ERRATA. — On  page  36,  for  Sapphire,  read  SAM- 
PHIRE. 

In  the  12th  line  of  the  same  article,  for  had  gave, 
read,  STILL  gave. 


INDEX. 


The  Incarnation,        .....          .          5 

Death,        ----...         -23 

The  Soul, -        -     24 

Happiness,         ---__          .         _         26 

What  is  Life? 28 

Moonlight  Musings,         ----._    29 

Beauty  in  Tears,         -        -        -        -        ---30 

Language  is  Weak,        ------     31 

Virtue,        .......  3^ 

View  of  an  ancient  Castle  by  Moonlight,        -        -    34 
Parting,         -._.__._       34 
Past,  Present,  and  Future,        -        -        -        -      -     35 

The  Samphire  Gatherer,        -----      36 

Samaria's  Daughter,        ------    40 

On  the  Death  of  a  Mother,        -        -        -        -      -    41 

To  the  Memory  of  Rev.  Adam  Clarke,       -      -      -     43 
To  the  Memory  of  Rev.  Edwin  Roberts,        -        -      44 
Sabbath  Morning        --__._         45 
True  Enjoyment,        -        -         -        -        ---46 

The  Seasons,        ----...47 

Spring, 48 

Farewell  to  Summer,        -        -        -        -        -      -     48 

Autumn,        ----....50 

The  Fall  of  the  Year, 51 


96 

62 

Winter, 

-      64 
The  Snow, 

The  late  Spring  of  1843,         .....      5u 

T  i>  ...      56 

Lines  to  J.  1  ., 

A  Winter  Scene,        -•„-.* 

59 
^fhe  Indiun, 

^^  f  *  I 

TThe  Lyre  of  Freedom, 

Change,        - 

C4 


x^ 
^Liberty, 


,         .         -         -     oo 

•-—America, 

r,,  69 

~~NThe  American  Flag, 
~->.  .  England,        - 


,       .      74 
Infidelity, 


UCLA-Young  Research   Library 

PS3029  .T363i 


L  009  607  736  7 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001  221  133    0 


